My Brother's Keeper
by T'Pring
Summary: John Sheppard is exhausted, but when he receives a mysterious email in the middle of the night, he finds himself heading back to Earth to help David Sheppard. That is, if he can even find his brother. And if The Trust doesn't kill him first. Complete
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Welcome to My Brother's Keeper. At the request of Cimmer, the winner of my silly review contest, David Sheppard is back in another mess - I mean adventure - with his brother, our favorite Colonel John Sheppard. To be honest, there have been MANY requests for a sequel to Blood is Thicker, so I humbly offer this story to ALL those who have been so encouraging. I have never written a sequel before, so this exercise has been, frankly, terrifying. At the moment, I have a bit of a head start, and an outline I'm satisfied with, so I'll take a chance and start posting.  
_

_It isn't exactly necessary to have read "Blood is Thicker" to get the gist of this story. But you may wonder why ol' Dave is where he is on the reconciliation curve if you haven't._

* * *

Nathan Larsen tugged his coat collar tightly around his neck, then shoved his hands in his pockets. The February chill penetrated through layers of expensive clothing, and he stamped his feet against the cold. Clandestine meetings in back alleys were for amateurs, he snarled within the privacy of his own mind. The Trust usually had more class.

At long last, the rusty metal door that he was standing beside creaked open. A thick man dressed in cheap black pants and turtleneck waved him in. Larsen followed, tugging his leather gloves off. He slapped them against his hand. There was no one here. The damn warehouse was empty except for a curious round platform in the center of the concrete floor.

"Is this some kind of joke? Where's Perses?"

The escort just took Nathan's arm and manhandled him further into the cold room. Nathan jerked free once the guard had maneuvered him onto the round platform. He watched with a glare as the guard tapped a tiny ear radio and pulled up his sleeve to reveal some kind of jeweled bracelet.

"We're coming," the guard said and touched the jewel.

There was a groan of energy and Nathan caught an impression of massive, floating rings before the dull grey of the warehouse was miraculously replaced with the bright warm glow of gold. More rings fell into the floor and Nathan was standing in a small, bright compartment, in a completely different place. He snapped his coat to smooth the collar over his shoulders and smiled.

"Impressive."

"This way."

Nathan followed willingly as the guard led him into the next room that was larger with angled walls and some kind of throne or command chair dominating a center platform. Markings of some sort seemed to cover every inch of the golden surfaces. Nathan brushed his fingers over the metal as he passed, wondering if it truly was gold.

A slim, grey-haired and very distinguished man rose smoothly from the chair and approached Nathan with extended hand.

"Nathan! I'm so glad you were able to meet me today. We have much to discuss."

Nathan ran a quick hand through his own salt and pepper hair and adjusted his tie. "Perses," he intoned politely. He was careful to make his handshake firm.

"Please. It's Dimitri. We can leave the code names back on Earth."

Nathan blinked. "Back? On…?"

Dimitri laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. "You're on my ship, my dear Mr. Larsen. Only a cargo freighter, I'm afraid, but useful for this and that. Sadly, since the rout of the system lords and the havoc created by the Ori, our access to more…comfortable…transportation has been quite limited."

Nathan nodded politely, but none of it made any sense to him. He was still turning over the idea of access to a space ship in his mind. And he liked where it led him.

"In any case," Dimitri went on, "we've decided to make our home here for the foreseeable future. So tell me about your progress while I have been away. I want to hear the news from you."

Nathan shifted his full attention back to Dimitri, known to him primarily as Perses – his main contact to The Trust. Something about the man's manner raised the hair on Nathan's neck.

"We've made outstanding progress. The DaeNaq acquisition is nearly complete, and we now have legitimate access to all of PSI's power generation facilities."

"I'm curious, Nathan. Why this particular utility. Why PSI?" Dimitri returned to his seat, and placed his hand casually against his cheek, looking down at Nathan. Despite the smooth congeniality of Dimitri's tone, Nathan suddenly felt he was defending his position.

"PSI is perfect for our plans. Not too big, not too small. Privately held, so SEC and government scrutiny is minimal at the executive levels."

"I see."

Nathan rushed on, "But most important is their position on the grid. They have acquired several smaller companies over the years, spread out across the country. With PSI, we have a tap into both the Western AND Eastern Interconnect, in addition to a small station on the Texas Interconnect."

Dimitri nodded and Nathan stifled a sigh of relief.

"It is unique in this regard?"

"Fundamentally. They were eager to make the acquisition, which gave us leverage in the negotiations, and sped up our timetable significantly. It's all but a done deal." Nathan had been very pleased to meet Perses' requirements for a buyer so quickly. He puffed his chest out, waiting for the praise that he was due.

"Very well. Then we will simply have to deal with the problem."

"Problem?"

"Yes. You see, Nathan, in your idiotic haste and stunningly stupid effort to impress me, you merged DaeNaq with the only company in the country that has a direct line to Atlantis."

Nathan felt the icy rebuke freeze him to the floor. He didn't know what Atlantis was, but he knew that Dimitri didn't like the connection. At all. Dimitri leaned back in his seat.

"We will have to move cautiously," Dimitri said, almost as if thinking to himself. "The NID is a constant threat. But I believe I have agents in place that will be able to eliminate our problem without arousing suspicion."

"Who? Who are you so worried about?"

Nathan had done as he'd been asked. He'd run thorough background checks on every executive at PSI. His face went from icy to hot as he felt a flush of anger. He'd never heard of Atlantis. How the hell was he supposed to have prevented a problem he didn't know existed?

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. Commander of armed forces on Atlantis, Stargate Command's outpost in the Pegasus Galaxy."

Nathan sucked in a startled breath. He knew who that was. He hadn't known _what_ he was. Dimitri tapped his fingers together in front of his chest.

"Yes," he said. "It will be difficult. But I see no alternative: Colonel Sheppard has to die."


	2. Chapter 2

David Sheppard, President & CEO of PSI, stood staring out the picture windows of his corner office where a grey March rain drizzled onto the gloomy business district below. The rooftop garden on the building across the street could just be seen through the half-slatted blinds as a stamp of pale green against otherwise grey and brown. David tugged his suit coat together in the front and buttoned the top button.

"Are you ready for the dog and pony show?" Julia poked her head in his door.

David waved her over and sat down in his chair, feeling the perpetual spring chill thaw just a bit as she came to stand beside him. Perhaps they would have time for dinner downtown before her evening flight home. He hoped so. David would owe her big after the "dog and pony show".

"I'm looking forward to it. Now that we've got the acquisition behind us, I'm ready to start moving DaeNaq to the next step."

"You've been ready since you first found these guys. I'm not sure whether you asked me to consult today because you want me to keep DaeNaq in line, or because you want me to keep you in line." She propped herself up on the edge of his desk, and wagged her finger with overplayed ferocity.

"I admit it. I'm excited. You will be too after you see the demonstration today. Nathan's bringing in his prototype generator." Julia continued to glare, with a comic lift of her eyebrow and David raised his hands over his head in playful surrender. "But mostly, I brought you here to keep me reined in."

"As usual." Julia reached out and wrapped her fingers around David's hand that he had placed lightly on her knee. "I'll do my best."

David found himself simply admiring her as she thumped her thumb against his knuckles, thinking. She was always thinking, usually about ten steps ahead of him. Today, she was wearing a navy business suit and skirt that David was sure she'd chosen to appear subdued. And yet, the perfect tailoring and comfortable fabric belied a preference for quality. Her light brown hair was tucked into a loose clip at the base of her neck, the remaining length lying in silky strands down her back.

David squeezed her knee and found his eye examining more than her suit.

"We don't get enough time together," he said wistfully.

"Answer something for me," Julia asked suddenly, ignoring his comment, or so lost in thought that she hadn't heard him.

"Ok."

"What happened when you went to see your brother last year?"

"…excuse me?" David pulled his hand away and crossed his arms.

"When John was injured and you spent a week out where he is stationed. That was last June, wasn't it?"

"Yes, so – ?"

"And along about July, you start pouring resources into research and development and shaking the trees for technology to acquire. Why? Or, back to my original question: What happened?"

David found his knee bouncing and his face warming under Julia's curious scrutiny.

"You know I can't talk about what happened." David began gathering up printouts and shoving them into folders to avoid Julia's eye.

Nine months ago, David had received a call in the middle of the night and found himself spending the next six days on an alien city in another galaxy. A _Top Secret_ alien city, so highly classified that even his brother John, who commanded the military presence on Atlantis, wouldn't be able to save his ass if he let the secret slip. But sometimes he wished he could talk to someone about it, especially Julia. Trapped within his own mind, the memories of those few days seemed almost too incredible to trust. Take the fact of his and John's genetic ability to activate alien technology, for example…

Julia thumped him lightly on the head.

"You know what I mean. I'm trying to understand your motives, here. Why the sudden interest in R&D?"

Ok, that was a fair question. David thought through his words carefully, trying to explain something that had remained unverbalized intuition until now.

"John…works in a very advanced facility. Military, of course, but the technology they're…developing is cutting edge. Beyond cutting edge. When I was there, it made me realize that real progress isn't just tweaking existing technology. It's going for it wholeheartedly. Taking a chance on something new. Thinking completely outside convention."

David found himself speaking intently, holding Julia in his gaze as if trying to explain by expression alone.

"What did you see?" she whispered. David knew she understood that he really couldn't answer.

"I saw the future. John's living in it." He turned back to his stacking, then stood up, looking over the pile to make sure he had everything he needed to take with him.

"Jealous?" Julia teased. David slapped a file folder down. It had become quite an annoying habit of hers to torment him about his brother. But it was another fair question, too. Damn her for being so astute.

"I'm not trying to impress or outdo my brother, Julia. But maybe I am trying to get a little piece of what I saw for myself. Why should the military have all the fun?" He turned away slightly, "Or take all the risks," he added. Julia didn't miss the sudden tension in his voice.

"Risks?"

"Did I tell you John was injured again last month?"

"What happened?"

"He wouldn't tell me, typically. But I've learned to read between the lines. The only time he writes is when he's got time off for recovery. I get the impression John has had a rough year."

"You're worried about him."

"No. John can take care of himself. Or not. He's not my responsibility."

"You're still annoyed about the Emergency Notification thing."

David ignored her and picked up his papers, then turned back to Julia who was still watching him with concern. "To answer your question: My goals are simple. I've seen what is possible, so I know it's coming whether I participate or not. I want to participate. Maybe even make a little profit for PSI along the way."

"Alright, then." Julia smoothed her skirt, picked up her own pile of folders and looked up at David. For all her 5'4" height, Julia carried a presence larger than many of her six foot tall male counterparts. "How do you want to play this? Good cop, bad cop?"

"You really love being the pitbull, don't you?"

"I don't get to at home. Have to be nice to the kiddies and all. Consulting is much more fun. Maybe I'll resign as CEO and go freelance."

David was surprised at how happy that thought made him. If Julia went freelance, she could set up her headquarters anywhere she wished. Like his place, for example.

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe we shouldn't start rumors. My options are already underwater. Lead the way."

David passed her on the way out the door, feeling that newly discovered excitement again as he turned his thoughts to the meeting. He'd out-negotiated two other bidders for the DaeNaq acquisition, and it had cost him a board position in the process. But he was certain it had been worth it. He could feel it. He felt like the kid with the only basketball on the block.

DaeNaq was the most exciting energy technology out there and PSI had it.

* * *

Much later that evening, David closed and locked his office door, juggling his briefcase, raincoat and a thick folder of printouts. The hallways were bright, but the lights from offices and conference rooms were all dark. The building felt hushed and gloomy. David usually preferred to work from home in the evenings, but he hadn't been able to bear his empty house after dropping Julia off at the airport.

He passed the elevators and paused at the open door to Nathan Larsen's new office. Nathan had left hours ago, but a custodian was inside, emptying the trash can. A vacuum sat upright in the middle of the office and the cord wound out of the door past David's feet into the hallway. Deciding that he'd put the papers on Nathan's desk rather than leave the bulky folder in the hallway drop box, David cleared his throat so as not to startle the custodian and walked to the desk.

"Hello, Mr. Sheppard. You are staying late today, yes?" The man spoke with a pleasant accent. He finished with the trash and began wiping a soft cloth over the desktop, moving things only enough to polish the gleaming surface.

"Too late, Jean. I'll just drop this and go."

"Say hello to beautiful Ms. Gianni."

"I will be sure to."

David plopped the papers down and was turning to go when Jean bent over and set a small white device onto the desk from where it had presumably fallen earlier in the day. Something about the box caught David's attention and he cocked his head, trying to remember why it looked familiar. Jean saw where he was looking and chuckled.

"You should be letting your staff play games, no? Not good for business." He finished dusting with a flourish and walked briskly back to the vacuum. "Close door behind you, Mr. Sheppard. It will lock." And then Jean was gone.

David had almost decided to let it go and leave when he found himself reaching over to pick up the white box. It was none of his business if his VP played games now and then. Heck, he'd been caught playing sudoku during a meeting on his PDA just last week. Of course, it had been Julia who'd caught him, and she'd been playing solitaire at the time but still…

The box was a bit bigger than his PDA and he shifted his coat to turn it over with both hands. Why did this seem so familiar? He didn't have any devices like this. There were no logos on the pearly case and the screen was blank. At last he lowered the box back to the desk. It really wasn't any of his business, he thought, idly wondering how you turned the thing on. He hadn't seen any switches or battery covers. Just as he set it down, his thumb brushed the LCD.

The box came to life with a brilliant white glow.


	3. Chapter 3

"Five more kliks, Sheppard," Ronon growled at John's six as they stalked through tangled brush. John nodded in acknowledgment. Five kilometers to the 'gate; 500 more meters through this exposed briar patch until they reached the relative safety of the tree line.

John looked back down the pairs of seven men behind him. There should have been eight. One of the men was limping badly. "Anderson, go check on Walker. Give him an arm if he needs it, shoot him up with more morphine if you have to, but keep him walking." He sure as hell wasn't going to lose anyone else.

Anderson faded back and Sgt. Hicks moved forward to take his place at John's side. John wiped sweat off his temple with a jerk of his arm. The valley of brush and briar they were pushing through was hot and stuffy. His arms and neck were red with sunburn, and his body felt heavier than normal, as if they'd landed on a high gravity planet. The ache in his side had been there so long, he hardly noticed the complaint amidst the noise of tension-twisted muscles and dirt smeared bruises.

Hicks looked as tired as John felt, his uniform caked in dried mud from a dive he'd taken yesterday to avoid fire. When John saw the Sergeant's weapon drooping and feet dragging, John froze, raised his hand in the signal for high alert and watched his men react with careful scrutiny. They were all exhausted, all were filthy and bruised, but he was satisfied with their response. They were tough and well trained. Even Hicks, who was as green as meadow grass and younger than anyone had a right to be. It had kept them alive for two days under constant ambush. They had kept John alive when he spent most of the first night unconscious from a stunner blast.

When he waved them forward again, Hicks looked a bit more alert, jolted by the false alarm as John had intended.

"Why do you think the Genii care so much about that crappy little outpost, sir?" Hicks wondered out loud after a few more steps, sounding like a man talking to keep himself awake. "Why go to all this trouble to keep us from leaving?"

"I don't know. But I'll be sure to remember to ask Ladon about it the next time I see him. Right after I shove my foot up his –."

"Only if you beat me to it, sir."

"Rogue groups my ass," John muttered. There were more renegade Genii than friendlies. If it were up to John, he'd revoke the Genii "Ally" status the second he got home. His toe snagged on a thorny branch and he stumbled with a hissing curse that turned Hicks's head.

"Ready for home, sir?" Hicks asked wistfully. Damn he looked like such a kid. John grunted, trying to sound stern.

"Stay focused, Sergeant. Just because we're close doesn't mean we're in the clear."

"Yes, sir." Hicks walked a few steps in silence. "Lt. Xiang, sir. Will he…?"

"We'll come back for him."

"But what if the Genii are still –."

"We'll get him. Dead doesn't mean we stop trying, Sergeant," John snapped. "Everyone deserves to go home…" Hicks nodded, looking a little fearful.

"You got family back home, sir? On Earth, I mean?"

Damn, the kid could not shut up. John thought about just telling Hicks off, but he heard Ronon rustling behind him, moving closer to find out how John would answer the question. Nosy bastard.

"I've got a brother," he said, hoping that would end the matter.

"He in the Air Force, too?"

John actually laughed at that. "Nah, he's a suit. Runs the family business."

"My Dad manages a gas station. He always said if I stayed in the family business, he'd shoot me. He was real proud when I joined up. Said I deserved more than he could give and the Marines would help me get it."

John felt his face flush. He'd grown up with so much, and yet he would have traded it all for a single word of praise from his own father when he was Hicks' age.

"You claim your own pride, Sarge. Like that shot you pulled off yesterday. Saved my ass and that's what counts."

"You saved mine ten seconds later, sir."

"Exactly."

Hicks was thoughtful and John took his eyes off the terrain for a moment to check on his line again. Walker was keeping up with Anderson's help.

"You got any girls back home, sir?"

"Sergeant! Watch the damn path."

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir."

Once Hicks had looked away, John blinked back fatigue and tried to take his own advice. He'd have to rotate himself off point, soon, before he got too tired to pay attention. But not yet.

John slowed their wary pace even further as they finally approached the forest. The sun was in their eyes, setting him to blinking even through his sunglasses. He couldn't see anything under the shadowy trees. He stopped, held his hand up to shade the sun. Hicks drew nearer, looking just as closely. John was just about to wave them all forward when a scrubby bush at the edge of the tree line shuddered. There hadn't been any breeze for the past hour.

"Down! Down!" he yelled and heard the thud as his people hit dirt. The first bullet whizzed over his head and John returned fire before the shooter had a chance to relocate. A satisfying grunt followed his shot.

"Spread out! Return fire," he shouted, then half rolled, half low-crawled to his right. Another round of bullets kicked up dust in the spot he'd just been and he heard Hicks return fire from his left. From the noise that was increasing around him, he knew that his group had spread out into a wide line and was quickly outgunning the ambush with efficiency and strategy. Again.

"How many this time?" John yelled to the closest soldier, who now happened to be Captain Anderson. He ducked and rolled as a Genii tracked his voice and bullets passed just over his head.

"Six. Three down." Anderson paused to squeeze off a round, then rolled a bit closer. "Make that four down, sir."

John worked his way forward towards a large berry bush of some sort, then poked his head up behind the leafy, thorny branches. Ronon got one more in the time it took John to look around.

One last Genii was popping out from behind a misplaced stone boulder and held John's group down with aggressive persistence. Anderson fired at the man who simply ducked. Bullets splatted against the boulder sending chips and sparks flying. The Genii resurfaced after the volley and pinned Anderson back down.

John swung a look down his line, spotted Walker about to take a shot, and tucked his knees under him into a crouch. Walker's burst also bounced harmlessly off the rock. They couldn't get the right angle from the ground. John took a deep breath, forced himself to relax his grip on his P-90. When the Genii reappeared to fire back at Walker, John leaped to his feet and raised his weapon as high on his shoulder as it would go.

The Genii spotted him and John could see his eyes go wide through the scope. He was swinging his weapon around when John's bullet went through his forehead. The Genii flew backwards with the impact, his weapon bucking with random fire as dead fingers convulsed.

For a long moment, John stood sweeping the edge of the valley. Echoes of gunfire bounced back and forth between the hills, then died away.

"All clear!" he yelled, realizing he sounded hoarse.

One by one, his team scrambled to their feet and John closed his eyes in relief as the count reached seven again.

"Check 'em out!" John waved towards the prone enemies and pushed himself forward.

Tremors of reaction were shuddering along his shoulders and he clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, too. The shakes would pass, he knew, but it worried him. The only time he got shakes after combat was when he was also exhausted. He'd shivered for half an hour after going 10 rounds with that super Wraith their first year on Atlantis, but it hadn't happened much, since.

He wiped his forehead again, realizing belatedly that he was only smearing dust into the sweat. The rest of his guys were standing over dead Genii so John entered the forest to find that last man. It felt five degrees cooler the instant he was under the shadows. Hicks wandered along with him, watching the perimeter. A pair of boots was just visible sticking out from behind the boulder, the front of which was pocked and chipped. Behind the rock –

"Sir!"

John raised his arms and instinctively knocked aside the gun suddenly pointed at his chest. John startled as the gun went off an instant before he jerked from the sting against his arm. Luck was on his side and he jerked in the right direction. The snarling Genii standing inches from his face cursed as the knife he thrust at John's middle missed.

John grabbed for the knife arm before the Genii could pull back, and missed the wrist. The knife sliced into John's hand, drawing a bloody line across the palm. Nerves screamed in reaction and he jerked his hand away before he felt the cut itself. John staggered backwards, completely exposed, blood dripping from both sides. The Genii swung his gun up, once again aiming for John's chest with a smug leer.

John gasped and found himself looking into the eyes of a man who intended to kill him. John saw satisfaction and triumph in that face, and something colder that gave John the sudden, strange feeling that his death was simply sport. Nothing personal.

There was another loud report and John jumped. The Genii's eyes widened in shock, then clouded over in disbelieving death. He fell to the ground at John's feet, the gun and knife falling uselessly from limp hands.

John cradled his dripping hand into his stomach and looked dumbly around. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Hicks lay on the ground a few meters to John's left, still aiming his 9mil at the Genii. A puddle of red was slowly spreading over the Sergeant's left shoulder. John forgot his own shuddering body and dropped to Hicks' side, pulling out a field compress. Hicks groaned, and fell back into the dirt.

"Nice shot, Sergeant," John panted as he fumbled to pull down the kid's vest zipper.

"Thanks, sir," Hicks whispered, swallowing down the pain John could see spreading into the creases of his face.

Bloody fingers kept slipping off the pull, but John managed to get Hicks's vest open far enough to shove the compress into the seeping wound just under his left collarbone. Voices were gathering in numbers and intensity around him as the rest of their group rushed to gather around. Anderson helped Walker kneel beside Hicks. Walker pushed John's hands off the compress and peeked underneath. Busted ankle or not, Walker was still the team's best medic, and he was all business.

"Sir, let Ronon take a look at your wounds. I'll take care of Hicks."

"Wounds?" John repeated blankly. Walker just shot a glance over John's shoulder and the next thing John knew, he was being hauled to his feet by the back of his vest. Ronon propped him up next to Corrigan, and dug around in John's vest until he'd fished out another compress and John's bandana.

"Give me your hand, Sheppard," Ronon ordered and John meekly lifted the sliced palm and looked at the cut for the first time. He wished he hadn't. The flesh was laid bare from one side to the other and the white gleam of tendons peeked through glistening red. In a brief panic, John opened and closed his fingers, terrified that he'd lose use of his hand as he watched.

"Hold still. Corrigan, wrap up his arm."

Ronon threw John's compress to the scientist who was keeping John from swaying off his feet. John watched as Corrigan cut off the soaked shirtsleeve and wrapped the compress tightly around the chunk missing from his bicep. The chunk that the Genii bullet had carved out of him before it landed in Hicks. John closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing for a long moment, trying to shake off the shock.

By the time Ronon had finished sopping up his hand and had wrapped it tightly with the bandana, John was beginning to feel a little more in control of his body. He blew out a last, long breath and shook off Corrigan's help.

"Walker, what's the story?" A scatter of first aid trash was spread out around Hicks, but the Sergeant was moving and responsive.

"Bullet missed the artery and is lodged in the muscle just behind his collarbone. Hicks's got a nice little charm in there at the moment, but we've got the bleeding under control. Doc will be able to cut it out, easy."

"Can he travel?"

"S'Up to him." Walker looked at Hicks who groaned and raised his arms. Anderson pulled him upright and looped an arm around his waist. Corrigan pulled Walker up and everyone was standing – Hicks pale and sweaty, Walker hopping every other step, but they were up.

"Move out, then. Ronon you take point." John waved the remaining Marines who'd been watching the perimeter towards the rear and put himself in the middle with the other wounded. He spent a few moments trying to find a comfortable way to hold his P-90, then gave up and drew his sidearm with his left hand.

John kept a close eye on Hicks. He'd stayed cool under fire and taking fire. He was going to get a commendation, that was sure. And if John had anything to say about it, he was going to get his ass kicked onto the Officer's track. Even if it meant sending him back to Earth to get him started on his degree. John thought of a proud papa at a gas station in Maine and smiled to himself.

"Four more kliks, Sheppard," Ronon called down the line after a minute or two on the march.

When they reached the 'gate an hour later, Hicks had passed out, Walker was hopping through tears of agony and John was so shaky he had to hold onto a tree while Corrigan disabled whatever it was that the Genii had done to the 'gate to keep rescue from coming through.

They were met on the other side by a swarm of medics. John caught a glimpse of Teyla and McKay hovering at the foot of the glowing control room staircase, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows behind them. They looked worried as his team limped through the event horizon. He lifted his chin in weary reassurance.

John turned away, intending to follow Hicks to the infirmary, when he came face to face with Woolsey standing next to two Genii messengers. Two days of tension, fatigue and fury burst through his usual reserve and he raised his gun, aiming at the closest Genii's head. Woolsey hastily stepped in front of his guests.

"Colonel! These men are here as our allies."

John's gun wavered, but he didn't lower it. "I just spent two days getting my ass shot at by our _allies_."

"I know. That's why Ladon sent them here. They have some important information to share."

"Tell it to Lt. Xiang. Oh, wait. That's right, he's dead."

"Colonel –." Woolsey's voice was low with warning, but John was past caring.

"No, Richard. One of my men is dead, two are seriously wounded. The Genii are no ally. They're all a bunch of scheming sons of -."

"Colonel Sheppard that will be quite enough."

To John's great surprise, Woolsey stepped over, tugged the 9 mil out of his hand and stood looking up into his face.

"I realize that you're exhausted and understandably have ill feelings towards the Genii at this time. But you need to listen to what they have to say."

John glanced over at the two Genii messengers, then back at Woolsey's stern face. There was annoyance there – Woolsey didn't like being ignored – but there was also something else – concern almost.

"I'm listening."

Woolsey waved to the Genii who took a cocky step forward, "The attack on your team these past two days was not ordered by Commander Ladon or any official in the Genii military."

"Of course not," John muttered.

"When Mr. Woolsey contacted us yesterday, we were as surprised as you that any Genii were involved in such significant aggression against our good friends on Atlantis. An investigation was launched immediately."

"Of course it was. Get to the part where I care."

"Colonel," Woolsey hissed.

"No, the Colonel is correct. He has every right to be concerned."

"I'm not concerned, I'm pis--."

"_Therefore_, when our intelligence was confirmed today, we came immediately to Atlantis to relay what information we've been able to gather about the bounty."

John waved his bloody hand. "Bounty? What are you talking about?"

"Colonel Sheppard, there is a bounty being circulated among mercenary networks in the Pegasus galaxy, offering a substantial reward for your death. Unfortunately, there were a few Genii who decided to try and claim that reward, unbeknown to our government."

John stared at the Genii. He felt like someone was about to jump out and shout "gotcha" and he found himself looking around the room to see if anyone else was as confused as he was. He met only shocked and concerned faces.

"I don't understand," he choked out at last. It was Woolsey who answered him.

"You have a price on your head, Colonel Sheppard."


	4. Chapter 4

_An 18 year old John Sheppard held the letter tightly in his hand, his heart beating with excitement. He'd been accepted! His thumb slid over the smooth Air Force Academy insignia and he could almost feel himself flying already. He hadn't even told his father that he'd applied – he hadn't really expected to get in._

_John raced through the house to the study, rehearsing his discussion along the way: The Air Force Academy was as prestigious as any Ivy League school, and just as selective. Most of the applicants who won appointment were in the top 3 percent of their class. John wasn't, but his high SATs and participation in athletics had apparently compensated for his less than perfect grades. John was also pretty sure that the stuffy prep school he attended had carried some weight with the selection committee, although his father had intended the advantage for other uses. _

_He reached the study door and stopped as he reached for the knob, hearing voices inside. Dave must have come in for the weekend from college, John realized, recognizing the second voice. Even better. He could rub Dave's nose in his success after that crack last month about state school. John didn't have any problem with state college, but Dave had meant the comment as an insult. Prick._

_"So, where are you going to send him, Dad? If he hasn't applied by now, there's no chance he'll be going to Stanford this fall. The deadlines are all past."_

_John froze. Oops. He'd sort of forgotten to tell his father that he'd blown off the other applications, too. He'd been hoping that the Academy's letter would come before Dad figured that part out. _

_"It doesn't matter. John clearly isn't taking his future seriously. I've gone round and round with him all year over this military nonsense."_

_Not taking his future seriously? He'd poured his soul into his essay for the application._

_"Maybe the Air Force wouldn't be so bad, Dad. He'd learn discipline. And it's not like he can't resign after his tour is up."_

_He was disciplined enough, thank you very much, Dave the Asshole. And if he graduated, he would be making an eight year commitment to the Air Force. Still, John kind of appreciated Dave at least considering his side. He leaned closer to the crack at the door, curious about his father's response._

_"The military is for gullible idiots who have no other future beyond flipping burgers at a fast food chain. John can do better than the expendable masses, David."_

_John looked at the acceptance letter in his hand. Only fourteen percent of applicants win appointment. 32 degrees available to him._

_"So what, then?" Dave sounded a little shocked at his father's harsh words. _

_"He can send in his applications for the winter term, and I'll put him to work in the mail room at PSI for the summer and fall. "_

_"He's going to love that," Dave muttered._

_"He's not supposed to love it. That's the point. Maybe the view at the bottom will convince him to get that degree underway." John could hear Patrick Sheppard sigh and John imagined him slapping Dave on the back with affection. "I'm glad I have at least one sensible son I can depend on. Tell me about school. How are classes this semester?"_

_"Good, I suppose. I'm really enjoying the marketing seminars…"_

_John backed away from the door, unnoticed. He left the house and jumped in his car. He would show the letter to the recruiter who had helped him with his application. Sgt. Toulouse would be pleased, at least. And he'd help John enroll. He'd enlist on the spot if he had to. The Academy required no tuition; he wouldn't need a dime of his father's money, which suited John just fine._

_Sixty percent of cadets went on to fly. John would be one of them. It didn't matter if his father considered him expendable. Patrick Sheppard had at least one son he could be proud of._

"Hey. Sheppard. You can go now."

John opened sleepy eyes to find Ronon thumping him on the shoulder. The infirmary was quiet and the narrow tower windows glowed with silver reflections of moonlight.

"Good," he mumbled. A nurse he didn't recognize was just removing the IV from his arm, and he realized that his hand had been slathered in disinfectant and wrapped with soft gauze while he was asleep. He flexed the fingers briefly and felt the tug of stitches against tingly skin. The anesthetic hadn't quite worn off yet.

Ronon stood in silent patience as John slowly moved himself to the edge of the bed and got his feet under him.

"How long?" He always asked. Sometimes the answer was a surprise.

"You slept about four hours. Keller just finished up your hand and arm about half hour ago." John had forgotten about the minor graze on his arm. A neat square bandage was plastered over the gouge. Now that he'd thought about it, it did feel a little sore.

Ronon followed John the rest of the way back to his room in silent escort. John waved a weary goodnight, and Ronon finally turned towards his own room. Once inside, John sat heavily on the edge of his bed, leaning over to scrub his eyes.

He was tempted to sleep on the very spot – clothes, boots and all. But he knew he wouldn't. Years of the career military life had ingrained daily rituals so deeply into his psyche that he could no sooner go to bed with his boots on than he could beat Ronon at hand-to-hand. Besides, he smelled like a swamp.

Mustering his resolve, he heaved himself up and undressed. Once he was showered and comfortable in a clean t-shirt and sweats, he situated his boots at the end of the bed and flopped onto the pillow. Then he rolled over and buried his face in it.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn't come immediately. It was always harder to go back to sleep that to stay asleep. He almost wished he'd told them to leave him in the infirmary. As if his body were conspiring against him, his hand began to throb, and his arm started to feel like there was a rock buried under the bandage when he tried to sleep on his side.

He spun again, ending up on his back. When his overactive brain began to rehash the ambush that had killed Xiang and separated them from the jumper, John flung his feet off the bed. Reading his email always helped wind him down. Maybe there would be a long boring memo from the SGC to put him out.

Leaving the lamp off, he opened his laptop and watched new messages pop into his inbox. He skimmed the subject lines, puzzling together what had been going on in Atlantis while he'd been gone. Rodney had fixed that glitch with the ZPM – good. John would never say it to Rodney, but he was glad his friend hadn't been with them yesterday.

After several more screens of technobabble, John's eyes were blinking and his shoulders were drooping. The clock in the corner said 12:13 AM. John yawned and idly wiggled the curser over the next message. The subject line said simply "For Lt. Col. John Sheppard". He didn't recognize the sender, which was unusual. John didn't get spam. All emails were screened and censored before coming to or from Atlantis.

"Let's see what this Julia Gianni person has to say," he muttered to himself, knowing that the mystery would keep him up if he didn't. Then he could sleep for a day.

The bulk of the message was a collection of copy/pasted electronic newspaper clippings. The very first headline jolted him towards the screen, jaw clenched, heart racing, and sleep forgotten.

"Tarnished President of Energy Provider, PSI, Goes Missing. FBI Searches for David Sheppard While Fraud Investigations Continue," it said.

The remaining message consisted of a single word.

"Help."


	5. Chapter 5

Rodney slowly became aware of a persistent buzzing. He slapped at his alarm clock and rolled over again, but the buzzing didn't stop. Shaking off a bit more sleep, he sat up and realized that the buzzing was also accompanied by insistent tapping. Someone was at his door. At 3:00 in the morning? He was suddenly wide awake.

"What's wrong? What happened?" he blurted breathlessly as the doors slid open to reveal Sheppard standing there, mid-knock. John just grinned a bit self-consciously.

"Sorry to wake you. I just wanted to say goodbye."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm taking leave on Earth. I'll go when they send the daily report in about…three hours."

"Oh. That's… What? Come in."

Rodney stepped aside and John wandered past. He was clean and dressed in a fresh uniform, a wad of gauze wrapped around his hand the only indication that he'd been lying in an infirmary bed only a few hours ago. Rodney looked down at his own rumpled t-shirt and shorts and realized that John must have been up for hours already. Or had never gone to bed.

"So what's going on?"

John tried for a reassuring grin. "Nothing. I'm just useless around here for a while. Woolsey's grounded me from 'gate duty. Lorne is going to send teams out to shake down the source of this supposed contract on my head. But that's going to take a few days, at least, so…"

"I don't buy it. This is me, remember? Genius and particularly close friend. To my knowledge, you've never even hinted at wanting to take vacation on Earth. The closest you've even come to leave time in recent memory was that 'supply' run to Mackenzie's research post."

John's expression turned so smug at the memory that Rodney just chuffed in annoyance and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms and stared at John until his friend began to squirm a bit under the scrutiny. Finally John laughed and stuck his thumbs in his pockets. Something about the laugh was forced.

"So?" Rodney prompted testily.

"Do you remember my brother, Dave?"

"Of course. He's hard to forget."

"Yeah. Well, um…he's in trouble and I think I should…go help."

"What kind of trouble?"

"He's been accused of corporate fraud. He's going to lose control of the family company."

"Oh. That's…" Rodney waved his hand in a circle, looking for something to say, "too bad?"

"Maybe. I don't understand most of it. He bought another company, the books were doctored, someone blew the whistle. Whatever. That's not what I'm worried about."

"It's not?"

"No. He's disappeared, Rodney. The Feds showed up to arrest him and he was just…gone."

"You think he skipped town?"

"That's what the FBI says. But that doesn't sound like Dave. He's too arrogant not to fight. I don't know what to think."

Rodney exchanged a long look with his friend. Beneath the fresh fluff of clean hair, there was exhaustion and pain in those hazel eyes. Physical pain and something else, disappointment perhaps?

"Rodney I…" John started, then stopped himself. Rodney stayed silent, for once in his life recognizing that talking was the wrong thing to do. John chewed on his lip, then ploughed on, "What the hell should I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I schlep all the way back to Earth, track down my brother and find out that he's guilty."

"What if he is? Would it change your mind about going?"

"It might." John lifted his chin with a stubborn thrust. Rodney wagged his finger with a knowing grin.

"But you'd already decided to go, so you don't think he is. Or you don't care as much as you think you do."

"I think I'm confused."

"But you feel better."

John laughed, then nodded. "You know, when I was a kid, Dave could do no wrong; I could do no right. No matter how hard I tried, things always came out sideways."

"Well, that hasn't changed."

"I didn't try very often."

"But this time it's Dave who's in trouble and you get to ride to the rescue. That has to be fun for you."

"It's not."

"Then you're a better person than me."

"That's stating the obvious."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I used to love it when Jeannie would get in trouble. Dad doted on her and she played the brilliant little princess role so very well. When she ran off and married what's his name -."

"Caleb."

"I may have enjoyed being disappointed in her a little too much. But I still didn't really believe that she was serious about him until they had their kid."

"Madison."

"I know that. Part of why I was so angry with her for so long was because she was doing what she wanted."

"Getting married was the only thing my father ever approved of," John replied thoughtfully.

"Really?" Rodney suddenly realized that in all the time he'd know John, even after all they'd been through, he'd never mentioned his marriage before. Ronon had told him about meeting John's ex at the wake and Rodney had been shocked.

"Yeah. I think Dad thought that once I was married I'd leave the Air Force, settle down and start popping out grandkids. I guess maybe Nancy did, too."

"You didn't."

"Nope. Helicopters to fly, wars to fight. You know. When I reenlisted after my first eight year commitment was up, he…gave up on me. I never talked to my father again."

There was a long quiet moment. Rodney couldn't think of anything to say. John suddenly fidgeted as if only just realizing he'd revealed more in the last five minutes than in the last five years. But his expression was still worried and he looked at the ceiling to avoid looking at Rodney directly. "What if it turns out that I'm the responsible one?" he asked softly.

"Last time I checked, it wasn't an either/or question. Look, just go find out what's going on. Help Dave out if you can. Just be there if you can't. You're good at that." Rodney added the last softly, remembering a time all too recently that John had 'just been there' for him.

"Right. Alright. I can do that." Rodney yawned and John slapped his arm in awkward thanks and turned towards the door.

"Hey, good luck. I hope… you know." Rodney shrugged, then watched John's expression carefully. The silent offer was sent and rejected. _Do you want me to come with you?_

"See you around," John said.

* * *

Three hours later, John stood in the gate room with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The light spilling through the stain glass windows and balcony doors was still cool and pale and the technicians looked sleepy as they moved about the morning routine of sending Atlantis' daily report back to Earth. Today, they would keep the 'gate open long enough for John to step through and join it.

Next to John, Rodney yawned with unashamed vigor, and stood huddled as if he were chilled. Ronon was also nearby, pacing and swinging his arms, eager to move on to the rest of his day that John knew included hunting the source of the bounty. John looked around for Teyla, and smiled when she rushed up the stairs towards them with Torrin on her hip. The chunky toddler squirmed, then leaned towards John as she drew near, reaching out his arms with a grin that John recognized as pure mischief.

"Jah? Up, Jah?" Torrin babbled.

"Not today, TJ," John said, ruffling the boy's curly dark hair. "Uncle John's gotta go. Besides, you're getting darn heavy. I don't think these stitches will hold up." He waved his gauze-wrapped hand. Torrin waved back in imitation then squirmed again and flung his head towards the ground. Teyla juggled the baby for a moment longer, then put him down with a sigh, keeping one eye on him as he crawled to John's feet.

The Stargate began to sing and hum as lights chased around the ornate ring. Torrin pulled himself up by John's pants and bounced happily on chubby legs at the show. Once the wormhole settled into placid gurgling, John led the little boy by a finger back to Teyla.

"Good bye, John," she said. John thought she sounded worried. He threw her a grin, trying hard to look cheerful.

"Look, don't worry. I'm sure everything will be fine. See you soon."

He shifted his duffel more comfortably on his shoulder and moved close to the event horizon. A technician yelled down that he was clear to go, and John stepped through without another look back. He wanted more than anything to keep that promise and return to Atlantis soon. So that meant finding Dave and getting him on his way towards doing whatever it was that Dave needed to do. John had a few places to start.

It took another 24 hours for him to sit quarantine, debrief and get his passes signed off. Fortunately, since the IOA hadn't rebuilt the midway station, he got to pass the time at the SGC and found a spare minute between writing reports and phone calls with the FBI to cash in a few favors. He even managed a few hours of sorely needed sleep. Enough to keep going for a littler while longer, at least.

The doc on duty fussed over a slight infection that had developed in the wound on John's arm, but checked him out after ordering another round of blood tests and a packet of triple antibiotic for his pocket.

Almost a day to the hour later, he stood just inside the security entrance of Cheyenne Mountain, waiting. A young Airman walked by, then paused, puzzled at John's presence.

"Can I help you, sir?" the Airman asked politely. John grinned.

"No thanks. Just waiting for my ride."

"OK?"

The soldier walked away just as John's small subspace radio came to life in his hand. "It's clear, Colonel."

"Thanks, Major. Ready when you are."

"We should have those coordinates you asked for in the next ten minutes. Beaming you to Chicago….now."

John felt the beam sweep him up in a flash of brilliant white light. He would probably get an earful from Caldwell about abuse of government resources for personal use, but Major Marks on board the Daedalus had promised to log the transporter activity as "training exercises". Caldwell could make his own assumptions.

When John was whole again, he found himself in an empty office suite with bay windows that opened onto an overcast downtown. The office itself was luxurious and modern. A steel and glass desk dominated the center of the space, and the walls were hung with art and shelves of sculptures. John moved to the windows to peer into the street below. They were only on the 4th or 5th floor, he realized with some surprise.

He only had a minute to take in the interesting view before the door swung open and a woman walked in carrying a briefcase in one hand and a file folder tucked into the crook of her arm. She hurried to the desk without looking around, then stopped dead in her tracks when John turned to face her.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" the woman demanded. She dropped her things on the desk and reached for her phone.

"Hello, Julia," John said calmly. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's nice to finally meet you."


	6. Chapter 6

Rodney strolled into the infirmary wearing the silly grin on his face that kept appearing whenever he went there. He looked around and spotted Jennifer leaning over a patient who was lying flat on the bed. Flat meant either asleep or really, really sick, so Rodney hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt.

Jennifer finished fussing with a bandage and murmured a soft reassurance to the sick man before she turned away. Rodney grinned again when she noticed him, but Jennifer's expression remained somber. She tugged him into her office before she said anything, and when she did her tone was serious. Rodney's grin faded.

"Hi, Rodney. I need your help. Can you reprogram the sensors to locate very small concentrations of microbes at very specific locations?"

Rodney had to yank his brain into science mode, but he considered the question carefully. "It depends on what you want. We can detect the presence of airborne particulates down to very small concentrations. It's what the city uses to detect pathogens for the quarantine protocols. Can you tell me more specifically what you're looking for?"

Major Lorne appeared at the door as Rodney answered and Jennifer waved him into the conversation. "Sergeant Hicks has developed an infection in the gunshot wound he suffered offworld two days ago. That's not so unusual under the circumstances; the wound was inflicted in a combat situation and treated in less than sterile conditions."

"It's impossible to field dress a wound completely clean, and those guys had it pretty rough. They all came back messed up," Lorne agreed.

"Exactly. And normally, I would have just treated it as SOP. But ever since – recent events," Jennifer stuttered a bit and threw a guilty look at Rodney, "I've made it policy to take nothing for granted. I ran a culture of the infection and started Sgt. Hicks on antibiotics right away."

Rodney and Lorne exchanged a look. Jennifer had summoned both of them here which meant, "You found something, didn't you. Something not SOP," Rodney blurted out.

"Yes. The infection is being caused by a pathogen that we haven't seen before. It's actually similar to _Staphylococcus aureus_ but different in some significant ways that we haven't sorted out yet. I have the lab doing a full workup and growing cultures to begin testing treatments. But what concerns me greatly is that this bacteria, this new bug, is already resistant to the antibiotics we've tried so far."

"What do you need?"

Lorne and Rodney spoke the exact same words at the exact same moment. Jennifer chuckled and Rodney could see the relief in her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"I need to find the source and I need to scan every surface of this infirmary for the bacteria. Staph is insipid in hospital settings because it can survive for so long on dry surfaces. We can not afford to let one this aggressive spread to other patients who come here for care or surgery."

Rodney was already programming in his head. "For that, you'll need portable scanners. I'll calibrate as many as you want."

"Good. Bring me two for in here and two more for Lorne."

"Ma'am?" Lorne looked startled and Rodney also looked at Jennifer questioningly. He'd assumed Lorne was here as the sick man's commander.

"Lorne, I need you to organize a scan of everyone and everything that came back from the planet Colonel Sheppard's team was on. Dirty uniforms, weapons, gear, boots, hats – everything. I know that's not an easy request, but I really need to know if this pathogen is lurking around anywhere else out there. We might also gain some insight as to the source before I send a biology team back to the planet. If we see it in the dirt on everyone's uniform, for example, then we've got a pretty good place to start."

"We'll try. Some of the boys wore their uniforms home that night. A bunch just stripped down here and left them to be burned."

"I have those, yes. We'll check the ones left here."

"Sheppard's on leave," Rodney suddenly realized, finding the thought odd. He hadn't exactly missed John yet – it wasn't unusual for him to be on missions for days at a time – but it had been over a year since the last time John had taken personal leave for his father's funeral.

"And he wore his uniform home that night. You'll have to check in his quarters for his laundry and sweep for the pathogen, just in case. Sweep everyone's rooms, just in case."

Rodney was suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by the task and something about Jennifer's gaze that continued to stay so serious was making him nervous. Lorne made a couple of notes on a small notepad.

"I think I got it. We'll coordinate with McKay and send any questions that come up your way. It that all for now, Doc?"

"Just the warning that Sergeant Hicks may be in for a rough ride. He started spiking fever a few hours ago and if we don't get the infection under control, we may be soon fighting a systemic response. We'll throw everything we've got at it, but our best chance will be to find the source and make use of any possible natural weaknesses the bacteria has."

"And that means digging through laundry. Got it. We're on it." Lorne sounded determined, and gave Rodney that look that said all too clearly, _and you'd better get on it, too._

"I'm going," Rodney assured the Major, but he hung back for just a moment until Lorne had left the room. He leaned in close to Jennifer and looked furtively around, hoping no one was close enough to hear him.

"Are we in trouble here, Jennifer? I mean, if this bacteria is as resistant as you say, are the rest of us at risk? Should we initiate quarantine?" He looked over Jennifer's shoulder briefly and couldn't help cringing at the sight of the sick Sergeant dangerously within contagion distance.

Jennifer finally smiled, "You're fine, Rodney. The pathogen is not airborne. It's spread by contact only, and can only really do any harm if it comes directly in contact with an open wound or damaged, weakened tissue. None of the other team members have developed any problems, and they were all banged up and scraped. Hicks most likely had the bad luck to fall in the wrong mud puddle at the wrong time."

"Ok, then. I should get started."

"Thanks, Rodney." Jennifer touched his arm lightly in that little slap of affection he loved so much. "I'm not worried about the pathogen spreading, but I am worried about Hicks. If this infection overwhelms his system to the point of septic shock, then it very quickly becomes life-threatening. Every minute counts."

The worry in Jennifer's voice was back, and that feeling of unease also crept back into Rodney's chest.

"Then I'll get started faster."


	7. Chapter 7

Julia paused, her hand hovering over the intercom. "You still haven't answered my question," she challenged, looking over the stranger in her office. He stood casually by her window, hands in his pockets, a smile toying at his lips. Dressed in dark jeans and a crisp, striped cotton shirt, he didn't look the FBI type. Those guys usually went either suit or Polo casual. This man had his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows and short hair that was surprisingly untidy.

He didn't seem aggressive, but there was a tilt of his shoulders that hinted at concealed fatigue and a tension she couldn't quite explain. It felt almost dangerous – like a tiger on a leash. She leaned even closer to the phone, wondering how fast she could dial security.

The man looked at her for several more seconds, expectant, then shrugged. His voice sounded amused, "Fair enough. I guess Dave and I don't look enough alike to make the connection after all. I'm John. Lt. Colonel John Sheppard." Julia was so surprised, that she continued to stare, trying to reconcile the information.

The man – John? – grinned widely at her consternation. "Um, John Sheppard? As in Dave's annoying and irresponsible, but clearly more attractive younger brother?" he prompted with a coy look – definitely amused. "I do have an appointment."

Julia dropped her hand from the phone at last. "Oh, hello then. I wasn't expecting…" she trailed off, wondering what she had been expecting exactly. A ramrod straight soldier in Air Force blues or army boots? "You're early," she snapped at last.

"Oh, shit – I mean shoot," John looked at his watch, then rolled his eyes in apology. "Time zones. Sorry. Not used to those anymore."

"You don't have time zones in the Middle East?" Julia scoffed before she could stop herself. It was a bad habit of hers to get sharp when she was flustered. She wished he hadn't surprised her. She'd been looking forward to meeting him for so long.

John just grinned like a kid keeping a secret but then stepped closer. His expression turned serious. When he spoke, the amusement in his voice was gone.

"Look, I could wait, but I'd rather not. I need to talk to you about Dave. I've talked to the FBI at length, but I need to hear from you what's going on. Why would Dave skip town over these stupid charges? It's not like they give you the chair for fraud. What's he playing at?"

John's straightforward manner snapped Julia out of surprise and on into determination.

"He's playing at getting himself killed if you don't go talk some sense into him. I'm honestly grateful you're early. You can leave all the sooner. I've already arranged for my personal jet to take you to Pennsylvania and I think I can talk David into meeting you."

"You know where he is?" John sounded surprised.

"Of course. We keep in touch through unregistered prepaid cell phones. The FBI is tapping all of my other communications. I spoke with him last night and he's determined to go through with this ridiculous plan of his to gather evidence. You need to go stop him."

"Wait!" John waved his arms and Julia could tell that it was his turn to be flustered. "What the hell are you talking about? What plan? What evidence? Back it up just a little for me?"

Julia took a deep breath. "A couple of months ago, David completed the purchase of a small technology company called DaeNaq. David believes that DaeNaq has been plotting from the beginning to take over PSI from the inside. He believes that someone from DaeNaq falsified the company books to implicate him in the fraud charges to get him out of the company and put their own people in his place."

"You're saying Dave's been set up?"

"Yes. And there's more going on that he won't tell. About a month ago, I spent a day consulting with PSI and the new DaeNaq team. Everything was great; we had a three year plan and budget in place by the end of the day and David was almost giddy at the potential of this new technology he'd acquired."

"Dave giddy. That's something I never want to see," John muttered just almost to himself.

"And then everything changed. Overnight David became nervous and skittish. He became obsessed with DaeNaq and its CEO, Nathan Larsen."

"So what's bugging him?"

Julia cocked her head, annoyed at the skepticism she heard in John's voice. "He wouldn't say. But he's been adamant for a month that you're the only one he can talk to. He's tried making contact through email for weeks. He left messages at Peterson. When he still hadn't heard back from you and things went to hell at PSI, he asked me to keep trying. I don't know why."

John looked truly shocked and Julia watched him walk in a tight circle before he cocked a hip and waved a bandaged hand at her, "I never heard from Dave. Your email was the first I'd seen of any of this, whatever 'this' is."

"You're sure?" Julia heard the hardness of her tone, but she couldn't help it. She knew that John and David had a rocky relationship at best. For just a moment, she truly wondered if John had maybe just ignored David's previous calls for help.

"Of course I'm sure," John snapped. "We've been busy, but I think I'd remember 'hey, John, I've been charged with a felony'."

Julia stared him down, determined to know the truth. John stared right back. He may not look a lot like David, but she was beginning to see the family resemblance – around the jaw, perhaps; a hint of their father that both brothers had inherited. And oh, that Sheppard stubbornness. He was testing her as much as she was testing him.

"Then that's strange," she conceded at last. "I know the FBI has been monitoring my email, but David has been trying to reach you since before the FBI got involved."

"If this is all a setup, why didn't Dave go to the FBI? Why run off and make himself look even more guilty? So far, this still doesn't make a lot of sense."

"David thinks someone is trying to kill him." Julia heard her voice go icy. David was in trouble and if John wasn't going to help, then she was done with him. "He is convinced that the plan to take over PSI ends with him dead."

"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" John retorted, stiffening at her tone.

"I happen to agree with you, Colonel, that David should go to the authorities. He insisted on speaking with you first. I don't know why. When you didn't reply, he decided to go find whatever this evidence is that's so important to him on his own, which scares the hell out of me. If you don't intend to listen to him, then you're free to go back to whatever it is that you do. I'll take action without you. I only hope there's still time to stop him."

Julia stood up, smoothed down her skirt and turned slightly, offering him a path to the door. Despite the confidence she'd managed, she found her heart racing, wondering what this man who she didn't know – who was so important to David – would do. Would John walk out?

"Do you believe him?" The danger in David's brother seemed very close to the surface, and Julia suddenly recognized it for what it was: deep emotion slipping through exhaustion weakened barriers. John was a man who usually kept his feelings tightly under wraps, Julia decided. Not unlike his brother.

"Yes. I believe with absolute certainty that something unusual is going on and David's caught in the middle. Something has him terrified and it's killing me that he won't tell me what it is."

John continued to study her and she returned the scrutiny with all the sincerity she could muster.

"All right. I'll listen. I don't understand, but I'll listen. I'll even try to help if I can."

"Thank you, Colonel. David needs all the help he can get right now."

"John. Call me John. I'm on leave, after all."

"All right, John. I'll feel a lot better once you talk to David and he can get whatever is bothering him off his chest. Try to convince him to turn himself in, will you? At least in custody he'll be protected. I don't know what I would do if he – ." Julia stopped, forcing herself to go stern again. Something flickered in John's eyes.

"I'll do what I can," he repeated. "So, we're on the clock here? You know where Dave is?"

"Yes. He's driving to DaeNaq's research facility in rural Pennsylvania. Something about proof of Nathan's involvement with government secrets, although I'm not supposed to know that part." At John's look of inquiry, Julia just shrugged. "David talks in his sleep."

John chortled, the sound somewhere between embarrassment and appreciation. "Yeah, I know. Found out he was stealing Dad's scotch that way once." Julia felt a smile tugging at her lips, but John was immediately back to serious.

"Ok, Dave's on some harebrained hunt for evidence of espionage to acquit himself of trumped up fraud charges." He suddenly shook his head like a dog shaking off water. "And here I thought I'd be bored. You want me to talk him out of it."

"I want you to talk him out of it," Julia confirmed firmly. John had accepted the circumstances far more easily than she'd feared, despite his doubts. "Do you have a car here? Then I'll call you a cab to the airport. My pilot is prepping the jet. I'll let him know you're going to be early, too. The faster you get there the better."

John was chewing his lip and looked like someone making a hard decision when his pager went off. He looked her up and down for another second longer, then snatched for a device hanging on his belt that looked more like a walkie-talkie than a pager.

"This is Sheppard, go ahead, Major."

"Yes, sir. I have those coordinates you asked for. The target is currently at 40.95 degrees N, 79W. Traveling North at about 88 kph."

Julia found herself staring in amazement. John had access to that kind of information so easily?

"Pennyslvania, right?"

"Yes, sir. You already knew, sir?"

"Not the specifics, Major. You got a name for those coordinates?"

"Just a minute, let me Google a map." John shrugged at Julia's snort. "Got it, sir. Target just passed through...Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Oh, cool. That's where -."

"Yeah, I got it. Stand by, Major. I may have another favor."

"Yes, sir," came the voice through the speaker, and Julia thought the Major – whoever he was – didn't exactly sound too thrilled by the order. She wasn't exactly thrilled by the information.

"David is a lot closer than I thought he'd, be," Julia said earnestly. "He's well past Pittsburgh where I was hoping he could wait for you."

"Will he turn around and come get me?"

"I don't really know. He is – a little upset – that you never replied to his messages. I can call him and give it a try?"

"Do it," John said, using the same tone of command he'd used on the Major, and Julia found herself scrambling for the phone that she used to contact David. She tried twice and got the same result.

"No signal. I can't reach him right now. There's not much outside Punxsutawney. I'll keep trying while you start out."

John chewed his lip for another moment, then raised his radio again. "This is Sheppard, come in Major Marks."

"This is Marks."

"Major, about that favor. Give me five more minutes, then wait for my signal and instructions. I have some more travel plans to arrange."

"Sir, are you sure - . I mean Colonel Caldwell, he –."

John's voice was suddenly sympathetic. "I'm making that an order, Major. If Caldwell has anything to say, send him straight to me. I'll tell him I roughed you up."

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir. Standing by."

John reclipped the device to his belt and began to walk towards the door. "I'll get my own ride," he said simply.

"All right," Julia breathed, no doubt in her mind that John's way would indeed be faster – whatever way that was; she had a sudden image of John screaming over Pennsylvania in the cockpit of an F-16 Falcon.

John stopped next to her as he passed. He gave her a long look and she felt herself blushing under the frank appraisal. "Thank you, Julia. Dave's a lucky man," he said softly, with an unexpected smile that transformed wariness into boyish charm. It seemed that she had passed his test, after all.

"Just make sure David is safe," she replied.

"I'll find him. You watch yourself, too. There's a surveillance team on the street down below, and a guy watching your car in the lot."

"I know that. They're FBI." She gave him a sidelong look. "How did you know?"

"Saw it from your window. FBI doesn't worry me. Keep them around. They'll help out if you need it. What worries me is whoever Dave is worried about."

"You recognize my car?" Julia blurted out the question realizing it an unimportant detail, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that she was two steps behind John. It wasn't a feeling she was used to, and it annoyed her. David was usually much more predictable.

"I recognize the sign in front of your parking spot."

"Of course." The parking garage was only two levels below her window. She'd never thought about the fact that she could see her spot from here. The explanation was reassuring.

"Do you fly?" John asked.

"Not any – what? Why do you –?"

"Your license plate. AME 99S. Amelia Earhart, right?"

She just stared at him. Few people even recognized the plate as custom. No one had ever puzzled out the meaning before without her telling them. Not even David.

"Uh, right. No, you're right. Amelia Mary Earhart. Childhood hero."

"Me too." His grin was fond, and maybe even a bit shy.

There were times, listening to David over the years, that Julia had wondered if John really was nothing but the dumb jock Patrick Sheppard feared his son had become. Instead, John seemed smart and observant. More so than even she would have hoped, she admitted with some chagrin.

"One last question?" Julia said, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

"OK?"

"How _did_ you get in here? Why the subterfuge?"

John scrubbed the back of his head with his bandaged hand. He was terrible at lying, she decided.

"I was scared of your secretary," he said at last.

"All right," Julia graciously accepted the nonsense.

John left and Julia watched him pass her very surprised assistant, look around, then head for the bank of elevators just down the hall. She continued to watch until the doors had closed behind him.

_So that's John_. He was nothing like she'd imagined him, but exactly what she needed him to be. She felt in her heart that David was in need of the protection John could provide as a trained soldier, off duty or not. But if John was clever enough to help David out of this mess, too, then all the better.

"Wait dammit!" she called out suddenly, and dashed to the elevators as fast as her 200 heels would allow. He hadn't told her how to contact him while he was stateside. She reached the door John had entered only moments before and pushed the button, hoping rather futilely that she could catch it before it began to descend. To her great surprise, the bell chimed and the doors began to slide open. The car hadn't moved yet at all. She peered inside, expecting to find John looking back at her.

It was empty.


	8. Chapter 8

Nathan Larsen walked out of the elevator doors into the cool, PSI parking garage and tapped car remote. The sleek, black BMW obediently beeped, and Nathan smiled. He'd forgotten what it felt like to run a large company. He was greatly enjoying his new position at PSI as "temporary" CEO these past few days. Fuck the Trust. He should have gotten rid of that Boy Scout David Sheppard a month ago.

Nathan reached for the door of his car, already planning the next moves he would make with his company when cold metal was jammed into his ribcage.

"Perses wants to talk," the voice behind him said. Ah. Mr. Turtleneck from the warehouse was back.

"Perses can make an appointment," Nathan retorted smoothly. He turned and faced the bodyguard, ignoring the gun that was now aimed at his chest. Annoying how a busy company garage could suddenly be deserted in the middle of the day.

"Perses just did. Meet him at The Blue Moon for lunch in 15 minutes."

"Sure," Nathan shrugged and opened the car door.

The large man opened the rear door and sat down, gun pointed at the back of the driver's seat. "I'll join you."

"Of course."

Nathan sighed as he pulled the car out of the garage and headed downtown. At least this meeting was somewhere respectable. Perhaps Perses wished to congratulate him on his initiative, he thought. Buoyed by the thought, he reached the upscale restaurant via the most direct route, and even opened the door for his friend with the thick neck before handing the Valet his keys.

Perses was waiting for them in a dim, candle-lit corner booth. Nathan slipped in across from him without a word. Just to annoy the bodyguard, he handed him his coat and sent him off to carry it to the coatroom. He then ordered the most expensive glass of wine on the menu from the unctuous waiter who appeared immediately upon his arrival. Nathan certainly wasn't going to pick up the tab.

The Blue Moon was lightly crowded. It was past the usual business lunch hour, so most of the customers were couples and wealthy tourists. Nathan spent a moment looking around the room thick with the smell of gourmet dining and old money. Perses shifted pointedly in the leather bench across from him and Nathan finally looked at his host.

"Hello, Dimitri. Thanks for the invitation." Nathan swirled the wine that was handed to him with a practiced slosh.

"You're quite welcome, Nathan," Dimitri replied. "Enjoying the fruits of your labors, I see." He gestured to the PSI cufflinks that Nathan had borrowed out of Sheppard's desk. "It is really a pity that your reward will be so short lived. I will miss our little get-togethers."

Nathan frowned, narrowing his eyes over the glass at Dimitri who looked as collected as ever. "What are you talking about? Sheppard's out. The Feds are on his ass and will take him down any day now. I have people tailing his bitch. Once one of them leads us to him, he's a memory. I can see the headlines now: David Sheppard dies resisting arrest. Mourning Executive Board names Nathan Larsen CEO of PSI. Pompous name. We'll have to change that immediately."

"I'm talking about Colonel Sheppard."

"He's your problem. You've had weeks to take care of him."

"And our campaign was successful. If you had waited to initiate the final sequence like you were instructed to, he would have died in the Pegasus Galaxy with no one the wiser. But because of your impatience, which is only surpassed by your incompetence, David Sheppard has made contact with Colonel Sheppard who is now on Earth, looking for his dear brother and bringing the resources of the SGC to bear in that search."

Nathan felt a thrill of anxiety, "But I've had all communications blocked from PSI and even David Sheppard's private connections. There's no way he should have been able to -."

"But he did, Nathan. Somehow he did. Perhaps you should have spent more of your attention on that 'bitch' you mentioned."

Nathan slumped into his seat. Perses reached over and took the glass of wine from him.

"The Trust is abandoning the DaeNaq project. Too many variables have been introduced for success to be assured. At this moment, the DaeNaq facility is being swept clean and PSI will be allowed to fail under the burden of the allegations you have so helpfully arranged."

"You can't do that," Nathan snarled.

"It's already done. There are several loose ends that need attending to. John Sheppard will cease to be a problem within the next 48 hours. However, he will no doubt make contact with his brother within that time. You must make certain that neither of them are allowed to return to the SGC."

Dimitri idly picked up a steak knife and watched the candlelight flicker off its gleaming surface. Nathan watched warily as Dimitri stabbed a hard roll out of the silver basket between their plates, then proceeded to butter the bread.

"If you manage to accomplish this one simple task – to find and kill David and John Sheppard, then you may yourself live. It is a simple bargain."

"What bargain? You'll kill me either way."

"Perhaps. It depends on if I can convince the Trust that you have some remaining value as a scapegoat. When PSI goes under, the government will need someone to accept the blame. And dead CEO's don't make for good press. People like to see someone pay."

"So I'm either dead, or in jail. I think I'll take my chances with the Trust."

Nathan looked wildly around, then began to scoot out of the booth. There was no one to stop him from just leaving. Before he got even as far as the edge of his place setting, Dimitri brought the knife down into Nathan's hand like an ice pick, piercing the soft muscle and webbing between his thumb and index fingers and pinning him to the table.

Nathan yelped then sat panting as Dimitri politely waved away the concerned waiter who came to investigate the noise.

"You have forgotten your fear, Nathan," Dimitri said. He twisted the knife a fraction, and Nathan whimpered. "You will find that your chances with the Trust are nearly equal to your ability to provoke our displeasure."

"Go to hell," Nathan ground out between gasps.

Dimitri yanked the knife from Nathan's hand and drew out a handkerchief from an inner pocket. Nathan stuck the hand under his elbow and watched as Dimitri tossed the cloth onto the unused plate in front of him.

"But the offer remains. Take care of the Sheppards, and you may live long enough to understand the meaning of patience."

Dimitri pushed himself out of the booth with a regal nod at the bodyguard who had been watching from beside the kitchen doors. They walked out of the restaurant and left Nathan alone at the booth. He sat staring at the exit for a long time.

When he decided that Dimitri really wasn't coming back he snatched up the handkerchief to wrap around the knife wound and cursed the blood that had already stained his suit. A flower of red spread slowly over the starched white cloth. His hands were shaking.

Fuck the Trust. They had done nothing for him, despite his hopes in their access to advanced and alien technology. All he'd gotten for months of following their fanatically detailed orders were delays and more orders. Kill the Sheppards. Bastards. He'd kill them just for annoying him. PSI was his, and the Trust couldn't take it away. He'd doctored the books too cleverly. He would survive the investigation. And he would survive the Trust. It would just take a little more power than he had right now.

Nathan's hands stopped shaking, his breaths calmed, and he relaxed into the comfortable seat. He needed just a little leverage to get the Trust to back off. Then they could go their separate ways.

He reached out and snatched the wine, downing the last of the expensive vintage in one long swallow. The waiter appeared the instant the glass touched the table.

"Would you like another glass, sir?"

"No."

The stain of blood on the white linens had already faded to a dull brown, looking like nothing more than a dribble of wine.

"Then here is your check."

The waiter set down the leather book and disappeared again. Nathan stared at the bill. Then he laughed, long and loud and with the manic release of tension.

"Damn you, Dimitri," he chortled to himself, pulling out his wallet.

He knew exactly where to go for that leverage he needed. With the right assistance, he could get it AND salvage the DaeNaq project for himself. He had one stop to make first, to gather a few friends for the ride, and then he'd take what he'd earned.

With a little luck, he would be in Pennsylvania by nightfall.


	9. Chapter 9

The white light faded and John was assaulted by the smell of car fumes and damp concrete. A cold April mist enveloped him, dampening his shirt and hair. He shivered suddenly, feeling the chill penetrate his light shirt with persistent speed. Damn, he should have brought a jacket.

He quickly looked around the alley he'd landed in. It had been risky dropping him in the middle of the small town, but Dave had been on the move, stopping for the first time in the past half hour. John was lucky that he'd been able to cajole Major Marks into accepting the challenge – it helped that Marks had a major crush on Teyla. He'd get her to pay him a visit the next time Deadalus was over Atlantis.

Once he was convinced that no one had seen him arrive, John found his way around the small gas station/ convenience store/ video rental shop, hunching his shoulders to keep the mist off his neck. A busy state highway full of local commuters rumbled by just beyond the exit, and John quickened his search for Dave. Clearly his brother was planning to be back on the road soon, and John was out of luck if he missed him. Marks had made him leave the subspace radio on the Deadalus.

Dave was nowhere in sight, so John jogged to the brightly lit pumps. He had no idea what kind of car Dave was driving, but – oh, yeah – that had to be it. The tan, 08 Mercedes stuck out like a Wraith at a picnic amidst the rusty Fords and Chevys sharing the station. Dave had always liked Mercedes.

John spent a minute admiring the machine, then caught sight of his brother leaving the store juggling a cup and a newspaper. Unable to resist, John hiked his hip up on the damp hood, folded his arms and waited. Dave hated it when anyone sat on his car. He was rewarded a moment later when Dave looked up and scowled deeply as he spotted the infringement.

Just as quickly, his face flashed recognition and he walked even faster, looking over his shoulder in anxious jerks. He grabbed John by the elbow, pushed him through the passenger door and jogged around to the driver's side. It wasn't until Dave had started the car, exited the station and was back on the highway that he spoke. John was so surprised and amused at Dave's reaction that he just waited, wondering what Dave would say first.

"It's about time you got here."

"You don't seem surprised to see me."

"Julia called."

"I thought she might keep trying. She's worried about you."

"It's nice to know someone is."

John sighed. He'd expected as much. Julia had hinted that Dave was mad at him. He might have even felt sympathetic if Dave would just get it off his chest and let it go. But his high and mighty big brother had a way of worrying a sleight until it rubbed raw and John snapped. It was a talent he'd picked up from their father.

Mustering what patience he had left in the world, John just reached over to turn up the car's heater. He hadn't shaken off the chill from the mist, yet, and was on the verge of shivering again. "Tell me about the fraud charges, Dave." John decided to get to the point.

Dave shook his head violently, "The charges are complete fabrications, John. Someone is trying to take over Dad's company and I think aliens are involved. I've been trying to get in touch with you. I didn't know who else to talk to and nobody at Peterson would hear me out, and once the accusations started to fly, I knew that the Ancient technology couldn't be legitimate and that there was something extraordinary going on…"

"Stop!" John yelled in surrender. Dave stopped talking and stared at the road ahead, his hands clenched on the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip. He was more upset than John had ever seen him, and it wasn't just at John's late arrival. Dave looked older, worry lines were etched deeply into his brow that hadn't been there even a year ago when he'd sat vigil at John's bedside. His blue jeans and windbreaker looked as expensive as the suits he wore, but today they were wrinkled and unkempt.

Thoughts of tormenting his brother flew away with the passing scenery and John took a deep breath for both of them. "Just slow down and tell me what the hell is going on. Did you really just say aliens were trying to take over Dad's company?"

"So now you want to know."

"Look, I'm sorry. I only got an email message from Julia two days ago. That's the first I've heard of any of this, I swear. After what Julia told me, it sounds like someone has been intercepting your messages, which is something I'm going to have to think about. But hers got through and here I am. She says you're scared to death."

Dave scowled, the worry lines deepening. John thought he seemed more pissed than frightened.

"I am. This is too big for me. I really needed your help and –." Dave jerked the car into the passing lane.

"_Aliens_, Dave. Let's focus here."

"About a month ago, I found an Ancient scanner in my VP's office. I couldn't imagine how it got there, so I started poking around Nathan Larsen's files, looking into his background."

"An Ancient scanner…" John couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice, and Dave clearly heard it.

"I know what I saw. It lit up when I touched it. I recognized the script."

"Jesus, Dave."

"And that's not all."

"Of course not –."

"Nathan Larsen founded DaeNaq 18 months before PSI acquired it. Larsen had a team of scientists and management that all looked completely legit on paper, but when I started digging into DaeNaq's archived books, their expenditures didn't fit their supposed undertakings."

"Dumb it down, will you."

"They didn't spend anything. They had funding on paper, but they never collected it nor spent it. It takes massive budget to run the kind of research they were supposedly performing, but they spent less than my R&D division at PSI."

"So you think…what?"

"I think that they stole the technology they were selling from you. From the Stargate program. They put up a front company, paid a few salaries, paid some rent, waited out the 18 months to look legit, then put themselves on the market. And I bit like the first class fool they were hoping for. I thought I was buying the deal of the century."

"What stolen technology are we talking about, exactly?"

"Power. They had a small generator, fueled by a recently discovered mineral. Small but powerful, close to 150 kilowatts in a unit that would sit on a tabletop. I know I've never seen anything like it before."

A prickle of recognition brought goosebumps, and this time John did shiver. "It didn't look like a…a fat barbell with flashing lights, did it?"

"Yes."

"Oh…shit."

John flung his head back against the head rest. Whatever he'd expected Dave to say, whatever he thought Dave had gotten into, it wasn't this. He instantly regretted leaving the subspace radio on the Deadalus. He regretted not bringing his gun even more. John's day had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

"You know the technology?"

"Hell, yeah. Sounds like a Naquadah reactor."

Dave thumped his thumbs on the steering wheel. "They called it the Quadah project. But what I haven't worked out is why steal something so modest? PSI was supposed to fund the research and infrastructure to take it to the 500 megawatt level, and then start selling the power to the grid."

"That 'generator' you saw on the table was a reactor capable of generating close to 500 megawatts, as is. We've got them all over Atlantis. It's also capable of creating a hell of an explosion if you screw it up."

"Explosion?"

"Equivalent to a twenty kiloton nuclear explosion."

"Oh, shit."

"No kidding. Ok. So…" John ran his hand through his damp hair and bounced his knees in agitation, "This is what we're going to do. I need to bring you in, get my people on it. You tell us everything you know, we'll go from there."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"We need proof first. If we go to the SGC now, so late in the game, Nathan Larsen will take his technology and disappear. I got a tip today that Larsen will be clearing out the DaeNaq facility soon."

"You got a tip," John repeated, rolling his eyes.

"I still have people inside PSI who trust me. My best chance at finding some real proof, more stolen technology, records, _something_, is in the DaeNaq headquarters. That's where we're going."

John looked out at the scenery, rapidly fading into invisibility as the sun set. Beyond the hazy streetlamps of the freeway, the small town had given way to farms and open countryside. It would be full dark in another half hour.

"So your big plan is to walk into the enemy compound in the middle of the night and hope that we find some smoking-gun evidence just lying around? That's stupid. Give me the address and I'll send in a team of Marines."

John pulled out his cell phone, fully intending to call the SGC and order the strike right from the car.

"That will take time, if your command even approves the action. If Larsen manages to move everything first, then it will be my word against his. And my word isn't very… Well, my reputation has been a bit tested of late." Dave pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly, then flashed a look at that was meant to be determined. John just thought he looked jumpy.

He poked the phone again and cursed under his breath. No signal.

"I believe you, Dave. And I'm the one who'll call the shots, so just trust me and turn around."

"No. Larsen's not getting away with this."

"Crap, Dave! I'm too tired to coddle your pride here."

"They killed Wolf Jaspers, John!"

John held his temper, but his reply still came out sarcastic. "Really. They killed Dad's drinking buddy. The old guy who used to come to dinner and yell at me to put on a tie?"

"Wolf has been on PSI's Executive Board for 40 years. He's a good friend to the company. He's been a good friend to me since Dad died."

Dave turned in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other gesticulating at John. "Larsen needed another friendly board seat to get himself voted into CEO once I had been discredited, so he got rid of Wolf. Just had him killed in broad daylight. Police called it senseless, random violence and closed the case. I talked with Genia Jaspers last week. She's devastated. I won't let Larsen get away with it. I won't let him take Dad's company."

Dave's voice broke and he turned back to the road. He cleared his throat.

"My company."

"If you get yourself killed, it'll be my company. And we all know how well that would work out," John retorted.

He wasn't quite sure how to deal with an emotional and irrational Dave. All the tactics he'd used for as long as he could remember involved needling a pompous and overconfident brother. This Dave was far from pompous. He was scared, messed up. A strange feeling of protectiveness was creeping into John's chest.

"Look. We'll get this Larsen guy. I promise. If he's stealing from the SGC, he's got a whole world of hurt coming to him."

"I'm doing this, John. I was going to do it without you. I still will if I have to."

"Dave…" John's voice was low with warning.

"It's only another 40 miles."

John slumped and stared at the state road ahead that was narrowing into two lanes. There were no more streetlights.

"This is a really bad idea."

Dave was silent for a long time and John felt fatigue tugging at his eyelids. He was also too tired to argue any more. He'd assume there would be a cell at their destination, and he'd call in backup once they got there. Maybe once Dave saw the place, John could convince him to wait. For now, John could wait. The thought amused him.

Dave had often accused John of impatience and recklessness when they were younger. But he didn't think of himself so much as reckless than as different. Different from his father; different from his brother who did everything his father expected, and seemed to like it. Anytime John had chosen a path that his father disapproved of, he was reckless. An education with the Air Force? Impulsive. Special forces training? Irresponsible – he was a married man. Divorce?

John fidgeted and rubbed his eyes. Yeah, well, the divorce probably was his fault. Darkness pressed through the wet windows and began to lull him into sleep. He still wasn't caught up. He was still cold.

He reached over to roll down his sleeves and felt his arm twinge at the tug. It was dark in the car, but John thought the skin under the roll of fabric looked streaked and irritated. Damn again. He'd have to slather on more of that stuff the SGC doc had given him. He rolled both sleeves down and buttoned the cuffs.

"How did you find me?" Dave asked at last and John chuckled softly.

"Wondered when you'd ask. I had Keller put a subcutaneous transmitter on you last year. Deadalus tracked you."

"Ah."

There was another quiet pause. The purr of the engine hummed through John's feet. John leaned back into the luxurious leather seat and closed his eyes.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Shook hands with a knife."

"Right." Dave didn't sound amused. John didn't care. He had his crazy brother's plan on his mind. Rodney was right – there was something just a little bit satisfying about seeing Dave go a little reckless. If Dave was really going to try to snoop around some top secret espionage ring before backup could get there, then he'd need reckless John to help him do it. At best, they'd find something to show to the SGC. At worst…

Well, John was pretty used to 'worst'.


	10. Chapter 10

When Rodney entered the infirmary this time, he met both Woolsey and Lorne walking through the door to join him. The three exchanged murmurs of greeting and stopped a respectful distance from where Jennifer was again hovering over the sick Sergeant Hicks. There was more stuff hanging off the IV pole. And more equipment pushed up around the man's bed. It didn't look good to Rodney.

Like before, Jennifer pulled them into her office, but she closed the door, and spent a moment looking to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. Seemingly satisfied at last, she turned to Woolsey first, but seemed hesitant to begin.

"You said you've discovered the source of the pathogen that is making Sgt. Hicks ill, doctor?" Woolsey prompted.

"Yes. And it is no ordinary bacteria."

"You already knew that," Lorne interrupted. "That's why we spent all afternoon scanning half the city and all the laundry on base. It wasn't on any of the other uniforms, or gear."

"But it was on one other team member from that mission, Major. Colonel Sheppard left his ruined uniform shirt here and walked home in his T-shirt. The bacteria were all over the sleeve where the Colonel suffered a bullet graze."

"John's been infected?" Rodney blurted out.

"I think that's highly likely. We need to alert the SGC immediately and have them bring him in for testing."

"He had to sit quarantine. Surely if he was infected, then they will have spotted it already?" Woolsey was looking alarmed, as if surprised by the idea that the procedures they had in place could have failed.

"Not necessarily. Hicks didn't start running a fever for a full 48 hours after being wounded. In any case, that's not the worst of it."

"How can that not be the worst?" Rodney snapped. He had a sudden vision of John lying in the bed next to Hicks with all that stuff hanging around him. He remembered John standing in his room half chatty from exhaustion. If the man was infected, it was guaranteed that his resistance was already low.

"The worst is why I've shut that door. Richard, our analysis strongly indicates that we're not dealing with a naturally occurring pathogen here. This is not some random Pegasus bug. This is _Staphylococcus aureus _ on steroids_. _An Earth bacteria that has been genetically modified to be resistant to antibiotics. To every antibiotic."

"You're saying this bacteria was created? On purpose? For what end?" Rodney interrupted. Each revelation was more alarming than the last.

Jennifer took a deep breath, looked nervously through the window again, then pulled out a tactical vest that had been lying on the chair behind her desk.

"Once we confirmed that only Sheppard and Hicks had any of the bacteria on their clothing, I went back over both of their uniforms and vests with a fine tooth comb. Literally. We looked at every inch under the microscope and scanners."

Jennifer suddenly turned to her workstation and pulled up an image of something under high magnification. "I still didn't find the bacteria anywhere but around the areas of clothing that had been saturated with blood from the suspect wounds. But I found this," she pointed to the image, "on Sheppard's vest."

"What is that?" Rodney asked, impatient with the details. As far as he was concerned, finding Sheppard and the cure were the only important items that needed attending to.

"It's a delivery system. The mutated bacteria are suspended in a microscopic, granulated compound that dissolves upon contact with blood. Blood specifically, mind you. Once the compound dissolves, the bacterium is exposed to do its dirty work. The scans didn't pick it up because the bacteria are dormant when encapsulated."

Jennifer crossed her arms and looked at each of them with something almost like fear. "Considering the evidence, I believe we're dealing with a biological weapon here. One intended to target individuals or small groups, rather than large populations. Thank God for that at least."

"It makes sense," Lorne agreed slowly. "In a disturbing kind of way. The delivery mechanism provides a way to place the pathogen in a target's path without detection, and protects the user from accidental exposure himself."

Rodney felt pieces falling into place with nearly audible clicks. "Target! Sheppard was the target! He's the one with the price on his head, and half the galaxy trying to cash it in. You said you found this on Sheppard's vest."

"In the first aid pocket. Two field compresses had been used during the mission. I examined the remaining bandage. It's covered with the stuff."

"How better to expose the bacteria to blood than on a bandage," Woolsey said, disgust evident in every syllable.

Jennifer went suddenly from fearful to angry, "I talked to Walker – he's still here with a broken ankle. He says that Sheppard got to Hicks first after they were both injured by the Genii bullet. John must have used a compress from his vest on Hicks, then wrapped up his own arm with the second tainted bandage. I remember cutting one off while he was asleep."

"Jennifer, you realize what you're saying?" Rodney pressed, equally angry, though not at her. She nodded solemnly.

"I'm saying that someone contaminated Colonel Sheppard's field compresses with a drug resistant super bug. _Someone on_ _Atlantis_. This is no coincidence, this is attempted murder. By one of our own."

"Jennifer…" Rodney didn't know how to finish.

"And if we don't find a treatment," she looked through the office window towards Hicks, "the attempt will succeed."

* * *

The knot of people gathered in the control room was quiet with the kind of stillness that masked deep unease. Ronon stood motionless in what Rodney called his "Conan statue" pose. Teyla was leaning close to the monitor, soaking in every word that was being exchanged between Jennifer and the SGC doctors.

Rodney sat nearby at his usual workstation and pretended to work, but he was also listening carefully to Jennifer. He idly hit another sequence of keys, starting a maintenance cycle on the communications array, then got distracted again as Jennifer began to wrap up her conversation.

The group from the meeting earlier had decided to keep the investigation into who had contaminated John's field compresses under tight security. Jennifer was adamant that the bacteria and the delivery mechanism were Earth based, so she had zipped up a file of her research to send to Dr. Lam privately at the SGC. All public conversation was limited to what could be expected had they not yet discovered the pathogen's origins.

"Thank you, doctor," Jennifer was saying when Rodney began eavesdropping again, "You need to recall Colonel Sheppard immediately based on this new information. We have Sgt. Hicks on a regimen of massive, broad spectrum antibiotics which doesn't seem to be stopping the bacteria, but may at least be slowing it down a bit."

"What is your prognosis, Jennifer?" the dark haired woman on the screen sounded casual, and Rodney frowned.

"Septic shock in twelve to twenty four hours. I may have to put him in stasis, Carolyn. It's not a good idea, but it might buy us some time to develop an antibody that works." Jennifer sounded equally casual, but Rodney suddenly suspected that the tone was a coping mechanism for both women to maintain their professional objectivity.

"But that won't help Colonel Sheppard. The Antarctic stasis pod needs a ZPM to power it."

"And it's a two week trip back to Atlantis. I know." Jennifer's detachment suddenly faltered and she looked away for a moment to hold back the despair Rodney saw on her face. "Let me know what you think about that research, I've sent you," she added at last.

"Of course. Lam out."

The connection closed, and the Stargate that had been flickering peacefully during the conversation gurgled as the wormhole collapsed. Jennifer stood staring at the screen for a long moment, then turned to Rodney who gave up pretending to work. Teyla and Ronon moved closer, too.

"What did she say?" Rodney asked, as if he hadn't been eavesdropping.

"That Sheppard passed quarantine, but there was a comment about a slight infection in the gunshot graze. He left the SGC for his leave several hours ago. They have his cell number and can track him by his transmitter if they need to."

"Hicks and Sheppard were infected at the same time. How could Sheppard still be on his feet, even as of a few hours ago?" Rodney realized he was grasping at the small hope that this insignificant detail would somehow mean John was safe. Jennifer just shook her head.

"John's wound was much less significant. It simply is taking longer for the bacteria to get a firm hold and go systemic. But it will." She looked around at John's friends, but seemed to find nothing reassuring to say. "I should get back to the lab."

Rodney watched her go and sighed as Teyla and Ronon drew close. The team stood in worried silence for a moment before Ronon raised a fist to beat at the air.

"Who would do this?!" he spat, frustration evident in every short syllable. Rodney made quick shushing gestures, and led his team into Woolsey's office where they could speak privately.

"We have to assume whoever has offered a reward for John's death is to blame," Teyla suggested, thinking the problem through out loud once they'd reached privacy.

Ronon was shaking his head. "I meant, who would doctor up a stupid germ to make an enemy sick. It's cowardly. At least the Genii had the guts to look Sheppard in the eye before they tried to kill him."

"Yeah, well, bioweapons may be cowardly, but they're frighteningly efficient. Seems like the more efficient we become at killing, the less honorable we become at using that technology."

"It is a troubling truth," Teyla agreed. "But I'm most concerned about John right now. Discovering who has done this will not help him get well."

"I'm going to Earth," Ronon stated suddenly. Rodney looked at him in surprise and the tough man who could probably claim John as his closest friend seemed uncharacteristically worried. Ronon got mad or…mad. It was disturbingly unusual to see him simply concerned. When no one said anything, Ronon lifted his chin. "If Sheppard's sick, he shouldn't be lying around by himself back there."

Teyla looked suddenly determined as well, "You are right. I will join you. I will speak to Richard immediately and arrange our travel."

They both looked at Rodney who felt his heart sink.

"I'd really like to go. Really. John's been there for me when -. Well, in a way I'll never be able to repay. But I think I can help him more if I stay and work with Jennifer on a cure."

Teyla rested her hand gently on Rodney's arm, then nodded Ronon out of the room without another word. Rodney wandered back to his workstation, trying to gather his thoughts around the research he'd need to start. He would also help Lorne on the investigation because Teyla was wrong about one thing: If they found the coward who had done this, they might be able to force information out of him about how to kill the modified bacteria before it killed John.

He sat down at his computer and reached out to start a new program. His hand hesitated as he skimmed the information that was already blinking across the screen. He poked a button. Looked closer. Then he looked nervously around the control room before touching the radio transmitter in his ear.

"Richard, this is McKay, come in."

"Go ahead, doctor." Woolsey's voice crackled into Rodney's ear.

"Please come to the control room. I think… Well, I think I've found something."


	11. Chapter 11

_"John, wait up!"_

_A 21 year old Dave Sheppard shoved himself off the couch and chased after an 18 year old John. It was 1:30 in the morning and John was just getting in from whatever he did with his party friends on a Friday night. Dave knew that John was popular, with many friends and admirers. John stiffened, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned towards Dave with his shoulders back. John fairly radiated that 'cool' presence that Dave had never achieved in high school. _

_"What do you want?"_

_"Dad called Stanford today. He knows you never sent in your applications."_

_"So?"_

_"So, he's pissed. What were you thinking?"_

_"I'm thinking it's none of your business."_

_John turned to go and Dave chased after him shoving a foot in the door to John's room when John tried to slam it shut on him._

_"It may not be my business, but it is Dad's business. I'm just warning you. When he catches up with you, there's going to be a shitstorm of trouble. And you're not going to like the consequences. Maybe you could just, I don't know, get your story together. Send in for winter term before he puts you –."_

_"I'm not working in the mailroom." John said. He peeled off his shirt, threw it at Dave, then sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. The shirt smelled of smoke, and beer, and what might have been perfume. When John looked back up at Dave, his eyes were determined, but there was something hesitant about the way he kept looking off at his closet door. "I was accepted at the Air Force Academy. I got my letter today. I'm going there in the fall."_

_Dave felt the shock down into his toes. That John would blow off applications seemed completely in character. But that he would go so far as to disobey their father's wishes completely and actually pursue the Air Force behind their backs…_

_"Holy Shit, John. That's insane. Dad will never let you -."_

_"It's NOT insane!" John leaped to his feet and Dave flinched. John looked ready to deck him, and it was a fact of their genetics that he could. "It's one of the best schools in the country. Only a few make it in each year. I can get any degree I want. ANY! When Dad wouldn't let me enlist because it would mean passing up on an education I thought this would -." John bit his lip, looked at the closet again, "I thought this would be a reasonable compromise."_

_Dave just continued to stare. He didn't know what to say. John flopped onto the bed again and began tugging off his shoes._

_"I went to the recruiter today. I've already accepted. I get sworn in the first day of the semester and I leave for basic training in June."_

_Dave finally found his voice. "Look, John. It's not too late. I'm sure if you went to the recruiter, told him you made a mistake they'd let you off the hook. I'm sure it happens all the time."_

_"No."_

_"Dammit, John. Dad is going to be furious."_

_"I know."_

_"Then get off your stubborn ass and think for just a minute whether or not it's worth throwing away the next four years of your life just to piss him off."_

_"Eight years. It's an eight year commitment. After graduation."_

_"Jesus, John. You signed twelve years of your life away on impulse?"_

_"No. Not on impulse. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Planning for this. I worked my butt off this year to get my grades up so I had a shot at the Academy."_

_"John –"_

_"Get out, Dave. Get out of my room. Get out of my life!"_

_"You're going to regret this. It's crazy bordering on reckless! Dad will never forgive you."_

_"Get OUT!"_

* * *

David blinked road-weary eyes and shifted in the driver's seat to un-kink his shoulders. He'd been on the road for the past twelve hours, but the closer he got to DaeNaq, the more keyed up and anxious he became. He'd felt helpless for a month, completely at the mercy of the circumstances that had been thrust upon him, that were unfolding without his involvement. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to, and he despised it. At least driving was doing something. He was going somewhere. And he would go through with his plan to search the facility.

He shot a look over at John with the thought. Annoyance and relief mingled into a nearly impossible cocktail of emotion. When John hadn't responded to his pleas for help, he'd felt betrayed, abandoned. John was the only person in the…universe that could help him, and he hadn't even answered a simple email.

Out of desperation to set aside at least one anxiety, David finally admitted to himself that he had already suspected his messages were being intercepted or blocked. If John truly had gotten Julia's message only two days ago, then David understood that to get here at all, from an entire galaxy away, barely even 48 hours later was a serious undertaking. A year ago, David realized, he hadn't even believed that John would show up at their father's funeral from across the planet.

He looked at John again, who seemed to have dozed off. Really? How could he sleep? David was certain that _he_ was breaking all records for high blood pressure and stress.

"John?"

John just twitched at his name, rubbed his nose with the bandaged hand, then curled up a little tighter into the seat. A sheen of sweat on John's brow glistened in the glow of the dash lights and David suddenly frowned. Was John sick? The sudden, unbidden concern jolted David out of self-absorbed obsession, and for the first time his determination wavered just slightly. He drove on, more uncertain than before.

When his navigation computer chimed softly, and the map on the screen showed one last turn, David pulled over to the side of the road to park in the shadows.

The DaeNaq facility was a modern, concrete and glass structure that popped out of farmland like it had dropped from the sky having just missed the suburbs – by a few hundred miles. DaeNaq had been renting the building for almost two years but David had only been here once before, during the acquisition.

The administrative offices had been moved to PSI, so most of the windows in the building were dark. The parking lot, however, was brightly lit and David could see the persistent mist swirling through the orange glow cast by each tall lamp. There were no other cars and David's hopes lifted a bit. Maybe the place was deserted. It certainly looked it.

"John. We're here," David said. John slept on and David felt a surge of excitement that overshadowed concern. If he and John could figure this out, he could get back to his life – the one that didn't involve stolen alien technology and plots to have him indicted.

"Hey! Wake up."

He swatted at John's arm and got more of a reaction than he'd bargained for. John jumped at the slap, grabbed for David's hand and had it jerked into a painful twist before he was even fully awake. John blinked and quickly let go.

"Crap, Dave. You scared me."

David pulled his hand back warily, watching as John flexed his arm and then rubbed at the place where David had hit him.

"We're here. It's empty."

John yawned, and also peered out the mist-beaded windows. He looked completely awake and alert, David thought as John pulled out his phone. Maybe he had just imagined the look of illness.

"Damn it. Still no signal. Why the hell did they build this place out in the middle of nowhere?"

"We can use the land line from inside," David suggested smugly, and John shot him a look of pure disgust.

"This is still a bad idea."

"That's never stopped you before."

"Funny. What we find in there isn't what I'm scared of."

"What then?" David shoved open his door and stepped out, feeling the humid air immediately caress his face. John followed suit.

"Julia. I promised her I'd stop you."

"Ah. Then you're on your own when she finds out you didn't. I won't be able to protect you."

John suddenly put out a hand and braced himself against the car. David saw a shudder ripple across John's shoulders. He hadn't imagined that.

"John, are you all right?"

"It's just cold here."

"Are you sure?"

"No. Let's go."

"Let me get something first."

David pushed the remote to open the trunk and rummaged for a moment while John sauntered around to watch him.

"I brought Dad's gun," David said as he found what he was looking for and pulled out the old Colt pistol and a cartridge.

"Give me that!"

John snatched the weapon out of Dave's hands and immediately ran a complicated series of inspections. Dave watched in fascination, recognizing expertise and lots of practice in the smooth motions. John also checked the clip, then loaded the gun.

"It's seen better days. Needs a complete overhaul, but I can probably get a couple of shots out of it." He tucked it into his belt at his back, then gave David an impatient look.

"Can we go now? It's still cold."

"Sure."

John jumped the ditch at the side of the road and led David over the wide, overgrown field that surrounded DaeNaq. Their feet made slight squishing sounds as they tramped through rain-softened dirt, but that and the sound of their legs swishing against weeds were the only noises for miles around. They kept to the shadows, avoiding the direct glare of the parking lot, so that when they reached the building at last, they came up against a blank wall of concrete and dark windows. John glanced both ways, then turned to David.

"How do we get in?"

"Um, try the back. Maybe one of the loading docks will let us into the warehouse section."

"All right."

John jogged along the wall to the corner opposite the bright lights and peeked his head around. He jerked it back almost immediately and drew the gun out of his belt.

"What?! What did you see?"

"Not deserted after all. Take a look. Tell me what you think."

John stepped back and David looked around the corner, his heart pounding. The loading docks were also lit, but not as brightly. A semi-truck was parked in the closest dock, and two or three men were carrying boxes out of the warehouse into the truck. Another man, dressed in an elegant black raincoat and matching fedora was standing just at the warehouse doors, overseeing the operation.

"I think they're cleaning out evidence. I don't recognize any of those people, though."

"The guy in the coat isn't Larsen?"

"No. I don't know who that is."

John wagged his head. "Ok. So we go in a window."

John was looking down the row of windows they'd just walked past when an earsplitting whine shattered the extreme quiet of the country night. David jerked his eyes up towards the sound and found himself being shoved against the wall as John passed by in his haste to get back to the corner.

The whine seemed to circle overhead for a moment, but whatever was making it remained out of sight behind the roofline. And then David's car exploded. A stab of light raced from the sky, tore into the Mercedes and sent a fireball of light into the dark with a crackling boom. The flash seared into David's vision, making spots of afterimage dance in the darkness that quickly reclaimed the night.

"Oh, crap!" John whispered.

Another blast lit up the docks around corner, and another roll of sound slammed into the night. There was shouting as the men on the dock reacted, and then gun fire mixed with another sound that David didn't recognize. John apparently did.

"They've got Zats," he whispered, almost to himself and David caught his nervous look at the ancient gun in his bandaged hand.

Another streak of light and thundering explosion eradicated the sound of return fire and the whine moved again, back over the main center of the building. John poked his head around the corner at last.

"They've ringed in through the roof. We can probably get through here now. Looks like they took out everybody for us."

David stayed frozen, pressed against the wall and staring in horror at the dull flames that were all that remained of his car.

"Dave?"

"What was that?"

"Goa'uld cargo ship."

"A what?"

"I've got to get to a phone. Stay close behind me. If we run into anybody inside, hit the floor and let me take care of it."

"I…don't…"

"Dave. Listen carefully. You were right. Something big is going on here. I have got to call the SGC and get us some serious backup. I'd leave you out here, but I'd feel better if I can keep an eye on you. We're going now."

With that, John leveled the gun, and slipped around the corner. David took a deep breath, crouched down low, although he couldn't explain why, and followed.

The semi was smoking from a gaping hole at the back end, and there were charred and smoking bodies and boxes scattered along the ramp into the warehouse. David swallowed back bile, and hurried after John who was skirting blackened concrete towards the garage-door-like entrance.

John paused next to the well-dressed man who lay sprawled and broken across their path. After a cursory glace at the body, he picked up a strange looking device that David could only assume was a weapon, then stepped on over. John edged slowly into the building proper, still fiddling with the device. David hesitated, morbidly curious about whom the dead man could be. He still didn't recognize the face, but David saw middle aged creases, dark hair and a neat, trim beard.

"John!"

David lurched back in terror as the man's eyes suddenly snapped open, and his head turned towards David in blank malevolence. David was held transfixed in those eyes. When they glowed brightly with a flash of hatred, he felt horror seep into his bones.

A sharp crack shocked him out of reverie and the man jerked. The eyes dimmed, then closed.

"Looks like you were right about that, too," John commented dryly, rechecking his gun, loading another bullet into the chamber. "There _are_ aliens."

"What -. Who was…?"

John dragged him past the body by the elbow and into the building where a wide, empty warehouse spread out before him.

"Goa'uld. Here, you carry this."

"What is it?"

"S'called a Zat. Point and pull the trigger. Should take down anybody we'll meet in here today, but it's a stun weapon, so if you shoot me…" John tried for the joke, but the humor was forced. "Just don't shoot me twice. Twice is dead."

David suddenly realized what had happened, and he found himself frozen again, this time looking at John as if he had suddenly turned into someone else. In David's mind, he almost had.

"You killed him." David heard his voice go gravelly and accusatory. He looked back at the dead man.

"I don't like those things."

"But he was already -. I mean he wasn't a threat and –."

"When did you turn into Ghandi?"

"I just -. The Geneva Conventions -."

John turned to face him, furious disbelief written in every line of his body. "You want to go over the rules of engagement? Now?"

"I've never killed anyone before," David whispered by way of the only explanation that came even close to explaining his distress.

Flickers of expression flashed so quickly over John's face, that David wasn't sure which one would determine what John was going to say next. When he did speak, John's voice was packed with all of it at once – anger, sorrow, understanding, regret, annoyance.

"You still haven't killed anyone, Dave. That's my job, today. When combatant alien lifeforms have an established base of operations on Earth – air or ground space – we have what's called a foothold situation. This qualifies. Knowing that won't really make you feel better, but it will help you understand what's happening. I have standing orders of shoot to kill in a foothold situation. Goa'uld also have a bad habit of jumping out at you when you think they're dead."

It did help. In a strange way, it helped David to know that there were rules and that John knew them. But he saw his brother in a way he'd never seen him before, and it was still frightening. He realized that he'd come to think of John as a kind of "Dave in Space"; someone who ran a business, albeit in a different market sector, and also sometimes flew helicopters and guided missiles from Atlantis' remarkable control chair.

"I knew you were a pilot, that you'd seen combat. I never thought about…"

"It's not all videogames, Dave. Now we really have to move. Whoever is in that cargo ship came here for a reason. I'll need to check it out after we get to a phone. Show me where to go."

John waited expectantly and David slowly began walk again, but his gaze was still turned back to the dead man that John had killed with seeming indifference.

"Today, Dave!" John said, sharply.

David turned away and started through the warehouse, breaking into a jog once he'd regained his bearings and started to remember a little about the tour he'd taken last November.

"The main business offices are on this level, through those doors. There should be phones there."

John just pulled ahead and led the way again, keeping his gun ready and flicking his eyes in all directions as they moved. David carried his – Zat? – loosely at his side. When they reached the swinging doors that led into the main corridors of the building, John pushed David into the wall before he carefully crept through first. After a moment, he waved David forward again.

The hallway they found themselves in was carpeted and painted in warm tans and golds. About a third of the overhead lights were on, making the place feel deserted without seeming creepy. David wrinkled his nose at the smell of new carpet and stale air. After the fresh dampness of outdoors, the building seemed stuffy and unpleasant.

They had walked perhaps half the length of the building, when the wall to their left changed into a balcony railing of sorts and the lighting brightened into almost daytime luminance. The entire core of the facility was a single, enormous cavern of a room. Four stories below them, the manufacturing floor spread out in jumbled glory, stacked with boxes, crates, and the occasional forklift. Powerful spotlights illuminated the whole space into nearly blinding whiteness.

John paused to peer over the railing, taking in the activity below. More men were moving and digging through boxes. As they watched, an amazing set of floating rings fell down through the ceiling to hover in a glowing stack around a neat pile of crates that had been pushed together. There was a flash of light from inside the rings, then they rose upwards again. David followed them, and realized that there was a gaping hole punched through the roof where the rings entered the room. He could see only black night on the other side.

"They're loading stuff into the cargo ship," John muttered. David frowned, then realized that the pile of crates was gone, and the men were pushing more crates into the empty spot. David watched a little longer. Like at the dock, there was a man overseeing the activity in the room. David watched him for a moment, then grabbed for John's arm to get his attention.

"That's Nathan. The one in charge. That's Nathan Larsen."

"The guy in the rolled up shirtsleeves and expensive shoes?"

"Yes. He was the CEO of DaeNaq, and became my VP of R&D after the acquisition. He's the one who framed me and turned the books in to the SEC."

"Alphabet soup," John muttered, then more loudly, "He's CEO of a Goa'uld cargo ship at the moment. Let's go."

John crept along the remaining hallway, away from the edge of the balcony and at last turned into an open door that led into a dark office suite. The office was furnished, but sparsely, and there were no decorations or supplies in evidence. Only a phone and a forgotten pad of sticky notes sat upon the faux wooden desk.

John tapped the weapon in David's hand and pushed the door almost shut.

"Watch the hall."

David held the weapon higher. The unusual shape had designs carved all around the grey casing. He leaned his shoulder against the door jam and peered into the hall listening as John rattled the phone and began to dial. There were several minutes of exchanged code words, identification rituals and terse situation reports. Alphabet soup, indeed.

For the most part, David understood nothing of John's conversation except at the point where he described the 'foothold' situation in progress, and a brief moment when John's calm, professional demeanor broke as he exclaimed in obvious surprise, "Recall? What the hell for?" John had listened intently for a long time after that.

When John finally signed off and returned to Dave's side, his steps were slow, and he looked pensive.

"What did they say?" David prompted at last when John didn't volunteer any information.

"What? Oh. Deadalus is preparing a strike team. They'll beam down to these coordinates in fifteen to thirty minutes."

"That long?"

"That long."

"So, what do we do until then? Wait here?" God, David hoped so. He'd had enough of skulking and shooting for a lifetime. He turned away from the door, eager to see John acknowledge the plan and maybe even suggest they sit down. "John?"

Again, John seemed to have to come a long way before answering. He stepped into the strip of light spilling in from the hall and David really looked at his brother for the first time since the car. He frowned deeply. John looked flushed, sweat beaded on his brow and neck. His shirt was soaked around the collar and under the arms, and his hair was getting spiky from dampness.

"No. You wait here. I have orders to keep an eye on the cargo ship, and prevent them from leaving if necessary," John finally answered.

"You can keep an eye on them from the balcony."

"I'm going down to the floor. You wait here," John repeated, then took another slow step towards the door.

"You're sick." David spoke with the absolute conviction of sudden understanding. And deep anxiety.

John startled, and his eyes went wide. But rather than acquiesce, the challenge seemed to shore up his stubbornness. Next thing David knew, John was tugging the Colt out of his belt and leaning out the door, preparing to leave. David refused to step aside, forcing John to crowd close and David could now feel the heat radiating from John's shoulder.

"You're sick and feverish. We got what we came for, just sit this one out and let your friends -."

"No. You got what _you_ came for. This is a lot bigger than you, now."

David knew that. It was why he was terrified. He didn't want John to leave him alone. He was terrified of what John would face alone. And John was sick. The image of the dead man with the glowing eyes flashed into his mind, unbidden.

"I still think -."

"You brought me here, remember? This was your idea. _Your_ big rush." David stepped back, horrified at the rebuke.

But John's expression went inexplicably proud, and he put his hand on David's shoulder, looked him square in the eye. "And you were right. They're cleaning out this place fast. If we had delayed at all, we would have missed everything. Now we know what to go looking for. And we have a chance to stop them." John slapped his shoulder, then re-situated his grip on the pistol. "You did a good job, Dave. Now let me go do mine."

There was an ache in David's chest that was threatening to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. John stood before him, sick as a dog and dripping with fever, proclaiming his pride in David, and it was almost too much to bear. He was ashamed at how much it meant to hear John's praise. He was ashamed at how few times in his life he'd ever spoken words of praise to his brother, and yet, encouragement came so easily to John. David had seen it on Atlantis.

If he let John go fight aliens alone, sick and outnumbered, then David would never again be able to look himself in the mirror.

"I'm going with you," he said firmly and raised his Zat. John looked unsurprised, but David _was_ surprised at the pleasure that remained in John's eyes.

"Ok," John said.

"Really?" David was taken aback. He'd expected an argument, but John was nodding to himself, looking almost amused.

"Sure. Give me the Zat for a second, and I'll show you how to arm the charge."

"Of course."

David held out the strange weapon. John tucked his own gun back in his belt to reach for the Zat, turned it around, and fired.

Blue bolts of lightening struck David in the chest and he seized. Every nerve in his body seemed to fire at once and he felt an exclamation of surprise force itself out of his throat. A tingling like the feeling in your foot when it falls asleep raced from his chest outward. He sank to the ground, twitching a little as muscles involuntarily relaxed. John crouched quickly and grabbed for his head, preventing him from hitting it against the floor.

"Sorry, Dave," John said, standing up again. He still held the Zat. "Stay here until Major Marks finds you."

John went to the door, paused briefly to push the lock, then slipped through. The door closed behind him.

David couldn't move. The tingling reached his neck, then his cheeks, and then the world went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

John locked Dave in the office suite, still chuckling to himself. That had been really fun. How he'd wished for something like a Zat when he was 18 and fighting with Dave over whatever it was that had been so important back then. He was proud of his brother, though. It took guts to face what he was about to face, but Dave had no business taking on Goa'uld and bad guys with guns.

The hallway that overlooked the large manufacturing room was cooler than the stuffy office, and John shivered as his damp shirt pressed against feverish skin. The fever had set in quickly, with a spike of heat that had almost caused him to swoon out by David's car. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he tried to ignore the chills and general feeling of illness. His left arm had started throbbing, too, which is why he'd taken the Zat. He could hold it in his bandaged hand with much less recoil than the old Colt.

Damn, I'm a real formidable presence here, he thought with disgust. One arm so sore he didn't want to lift it, gun hand sliced up. Raging fever from an incurable infection…

They'd told him that on the phone: report to the SGC, ASAP. Hicks was dying by inches and John had the same bug. Hell. He thought he'd caught the flu from Sgt. Leo who'd been in the infirmary while he was doing his quarantine time. The recall was laughable. There was no way out but through at this point. And if he had a choice of whether to go out swinging at bad guys, or lying in a bed in a puddle of his own sweat –

He shoved the thought aside and jogged back down the hall towards the emergency stairwell he'd spotted earlier.

John descended the stairs quietly, listening over the echoes of his own footsteps for the sound of anyone else's. He made it to the sub-ground factory floor uninterrupted. The stairwell exit was in the corner of the giant room which meant that John could see one long wall extending out from the small window in the door, but little else. He crouched, opened the door a crack.

No one was near this end, so he crept into the room and skulked towards a pile of crates stacked a hundred meters further into the room. He made it without detection, took a deep breath, and dashed over to another stack even closer to the group of men who were still pushing boxes towards the loading zone. He crouched down and peered out through a space between two shoulder-high crates.

The man Dave had pointed out as Nathan Larsen, was moving among the boxes, pointing out the ones he wanted moved. John watched him closely, listening hard for a clue as to what the guy was up to and why.

"These! Over here," Larsen bellowed, then moved down the rows of boxes, even closer to John. He ducked down as Larsen passed in front of the stack that he was hiding behind. A few steps later, Larsen paused as one of his men approached him.

"Larsen, we've loaded all of the reactors. The naquadah goes up next. We shouldn't stay much longer, though. Some damn farmer will spot the ship eventually."

"I want the grid neutralizer. We spent months developing that weapon and I'll be damned if I'm going to let The Trust keep it."

"You're sure that if we have it, The Trust will keep off our backs?"

"They won't have a choice. PSI is perfectly positioned on the grid, and I have PSI. If we get the grid neutralizer in place, they'll have to deal with us or we simply turn it on and take all the profit for ourselves."

"Right. We'll keep looking. But I'm not risking my neck for it. We've got the cargo ship and the naquadah," the thug repeated pointedly, then returned to loading. Larsen poked at a disturbingly familiar pearly white palm device for a second, then he also wandered off. John sat still, thinking hard.

The Trust was involved? And what is a grid neutralizer? As in the U.S. power grid? Larsen had called it a "weapon", which usually meant something not fun. In this case, not fun for the power grid and those dependent upon it?

John suddenly shuddered, and not just from fever. PSI was a power distributor with clients all over the U.S. Dave manufactured some of his own energy, bought and sold it mostly. But as Larsen said, they were perfectly positioned on the grid if someone wanted to, say, eliminate all competition in the market and end up the sole energy provider for the whole country. After getting rid of the legitimate owner of PSI, of course.

John couldn't think of a better way to gain such a monopoly than to fire up a bunch of naquadah reactors and somehow arrange an "accidental" destruction of the competing power generators on the grid. It was starting to make sense, in a terrifyingly logical sort of way.

The only problem, of course, was that even with a naquadah-enriched PSI positioned to come to the rescue, the devastation and economic disaster that would result in the wake of an attack on the power grid would be apocalyptic. John raised his Zat, feeling a combat thrill race through him.

Larsen could not get away with his weapon. And until the Deadalus force arrived, John was the only thing in Larsen's way. John smiled slightly. He was really good at getting in the way. The first thing was to keep an eye on Larsen.

He glanced quickly over his crates, then began to move in the direction Larsen had gone. The ex-Trust collaborative was methodically walking the aisles between boxes. John caught up, then shadowed him as he worked his way across the floor. Twice, Larsen bellowed for a crate to be included in the loading and John had to scramble out of sight as Larsen's men came jogging over to haul them off. Each time, John got a glance at the packing labels, and felt pretty certain that Larsen had not found what he was looking for. Yet.

Larsen's inspection worked them back closer to the loading zone, and John had to move even more carefully to avoid detection. The fever was a liability in this game. Adrenaline could compensate for only so long, and the ongoing cat and mouse was as draining as honest combat. John was just considering how he might cause a distraction or two to give himself a break when Larsen's voice rang out through the room.

"Here! This is it. This goes up immediately."

John risked a peek around the corner of his current hiding spot and saw Larsen standing next to a surprisingly small crate – about the size of a kitchen table in volume. Two of Larsen's men jogged over carrying furniture dollies, and began to tug the box onto the wheels. John felt lightheaded with a fresh rush of adrenaline. Time for that distraction.

He crept away a few meters, then climbed up a particularly tall stack of crates. His arm and hand complained with the use, but he ignored his body's warning signals and ended up kneeling on top of the pile. He scanned quickly for the boxes he'd identified earlier as the kind that contained raw naquadah. Sure enough, there was a pile right next to the loading zone, which in turn was next to a small forklift.

Aiming carefully, John pumped two rounds from the Zat into the stack of naquadah, then ducked as Larsen's men looked around in surprise for the source of the shot. Naquadah was stable in its raw form, but Rodney had told him once that when exposed to an electrical charge, the element had an unusual but useful reaction.

The boxes flickered with the surge of the Zat's pulse. An instant later, the men were shouting and pointing as the forklift rattled on its tires and began to slide in shuddering lurches towards the boxes of naquadah. Other metal objects also began to vibrate and slide as the temporarily charged mineral yanked on them with incredibly strong magnetic force. One man watched in amazement as his sub-machine gun flew out of his hand to stick to the side of a naquadah crate like a magnet on a fridge.

From his vantage point, John could see Larsen frown and gesture the closest men to stay with the grid neutralizer. They stopped tugging at the box, and drew their own weapons. One had a Zat, the other a military spec 9 mil. When Larsen jogged away towards the ruckus, John began to clamber down his pile. He saw the forklift give one last mighty lurch and plow into the stack of naquadah boxes with an almighty crash just before he dropped over the edge.

His knees wobbled a bit when he hit the floor, and then he was gliding along the aisle towards the men guarding Larsen's weapon. He began firing the moment he caught sight of them and the one holding the 9 mil went down with his first shot. The second guard managed to duck behind another nearby crate, and John cursed. He'd been too slow. An entire battle could be determined in the first three seconds in a situation like this. John felt them slipping through his fingers.

He threw himself to one side as the man returned fire with his own Zat. It took John three more tries to finally stun the second guard by popping out from behind his own crate, but by then it was too late. The rest of Larsen's men were on the way. He had to move fast. John ducked down one aisle, u-turned, and pelted back up the next, trying to get back to the grid neutralizer.

A red-headed guard crossed the aisle just in front of him, and John stunned him. The man who had been following the red-head took a shot at John with a 9 mil, and the crate just beyond John's left ear splintered with the smell of chopped cedar and packing straw. John flattened his head-long momentum into a dive and flung himself across the aisle, firing down its length as he sailed by. The man with the 9 mil also collapsed.

John landed hard on his chest, the impact just almost knocking the wind out of him. The Colt pistol dug into his belly at his belt. He crawled the rest of the way out of the aisle, and squeezed himself in among a particularly large jumble of boxes, panting heavily. Spots swam before his eyes, and the merely annoying lightheadedness had grown into nauseating dizziness.

Footsteps stomped past his hiding spot, and John gulped back panic.

"Now would really be a good time to show up, guys," he muttered to the ceiling and the Deadalus in orbit far above him. Larsen's voice was the one who answered.

"Get this crate to the rings, then follow me. I'll lead you to him on the scanner."

Shit So Larsen knew how to use the Ancient LSD after all. John hung his head, forced air into his lungs to stabilize his breathing. A kind of resigned calm settled over him, and he even stopped shaking. His duty was clear.

With a final deep breath of preparation, John flung himself out of the crates and bolted the short distance back to the grid neutralizer. He started firing the Zat as rapidly as the weapon could refresh, not caring who was firing back. Larsen's remaining three men scattered and John just kept going until he had a line at the grid neutralizer crate.

His first shot licked around the box like the bolts were looking for an entrance. A bullet whizzed over his shoulder, and John's next two shots pinned the guards back down.

His second shot into the box lingered even longer, and the pale yellow wood of the crate glowed blue for an instant.

"Stop him. Protect the crate!" Larsen screamed, catching on to John's intentions.

John had to roll as a barrage of bullets drew a sparkling line down the aisle in front of him. But he came up on his knees, and drew bead on the crate for one last shot. One to stun, two to kill, three to -

An object flying with the force of a falling elephant slammed into John's shoulder, knocking him off his knees and sliding him several feet to the side. The man, sandy-haired and smelling of Old Spice, used his weight to hold John down once they came to rest and John screamed in frustration. He was firmly pinned, barely even able to breathe.

But he'd kept hold of the Zat. With a supreme effort, he twisted his hand, raised his forearm off the ground. He gritted his teeth and got his head up far enough off the ground to see what he had to see. The man slapped at John's face, shoving his head down again.

"Get his Zat! Don't let him –!"

John fired.

Old Spice shifted at the sound and John was able to see the crate glow to a brilliant blue, shimmer for an instant, then vanish. Cool. He watched until he was certain the crate had disappeared completely, and then he relaxed and closed his eyes, wondering where they'd hit him first. Bad guys always hit him when he pissed them off. He wondered if he'd even notice. He already hurt everywhere.

The man rolled off, and the Zat was kicked out of his limp hand. John felt stitches tear and warmth begin to seep into the by-now filthy and frayed gauze. He curled the hand into his stomach and rolled onto his side. He began shaking so hard that his teeth chattered.

"Who are you?"

John opened his eyes a crack to find Larsen standing over him. Larsen's jaw was working over clenched teeth and his eyes were flashing so fiercely with fury that he didn't even need a snake in his head to look Goa'uld. He yanked a 9 mil out of the hand of another man, loaded the chamber and pointed it down at John's face.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"Just…a disgruntled…shareholder," John gasped out.

Larsen flicked his eyes and a boot sank into his back, just above the hips. John cried out, then gritted his teeth to glare back at Larsen. He felt a slight tug on his jeans, and Old Spice's voice piped up.

"ID says his name is Sheppard. There's a military ID, too. Lt. Colonel John Sheppard."

Larsen's eyes went wide, and then John watched an expression of cold glee creep over Larsen's face.

"You!"

"Me," John whispered.

"You have caused me a great deal of trouble, Colonel Sheppard. I owe you a great deal of retribution."

"Glad to hear that. No really," John added at Larsen's scoff. The more pissed off you are, the better I must have done my job."

"Then you have done your job VERY well. Get him up."

"I'd really rather lie down. Not feeling too well, actually." John was still muttering when he was grabbed and hauled to his knees. He whimpered and writhed at the pressure on his sore arm, but Old Spice only gripped tighter. John felt the room spinning away from him, and he breathed hard through his teeth to keep nausea at bay. Larsen stepped in front of him, and rested the barrel of the 9 mil against John's forehead. The muzzle felt cold against his fever-hot skin.

"I want to see his eyes when he dies," Larsen whispered. John immediately closed them, and Larsen chuckled. "Then this will have to do."


	13. Chapter 13

David came to on the floor of the office suite and groaned with lingering discomfort. It wasn't until he pushed himself up and was sitting against the front of the desk that he remembered where he was and what had happened. He looked around the room. John was nowhere in sight.

"Damn, him!" David groaned again, using the desk to pull himself to his feet.

He tried to be angry; tried to reclaim years of brotherly righteous indignation at John's consistent tendency towards recklessness. But all he could come up with was overwhelming fear. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. The Deadalus should be here any minute. He had to find John.

He made it to the door, feeling his feet grow stronger under him the more he moved. He should probably check the hall first, he thought, then went on through anyway. The noise of what could only be a battle raging on the factory floor assaulted him and he dashed to the balcony wall to peer into the chaos below.

David looked desperately over the scene, looking for John. When he spotted him, his breath caught in his throat. John was pinned under a large man with others climbing out of hiding spots to join the struggling pair on the ground. The man on top hit John in the face and John's head snapped down. Someone shouted and David could just see John's Zat fire…At a crate?

The crate glowed for a moment then vanished to David's complete befuddlement. The men on the floor were staring at the empty space, but David's gaze was locked on John. He could see the moment when his brother surrendered. Once the crate was gone, John relaxed, went limp against the floor. David didn't understand. He'd never seen his brother give up. On anything. Ever.

David had almost decided to run to the stairwell and was turning towards it when he saw the men jerk John up onto his knees. David froze. Not only was he not breathing, he felt as if his heart had stopped, too.

David watched Nathan Larsen step close to John and put his gun against John's forehead. John was limp in the grasp of the men holding him, leaning into the arm that David had realized was sore in the car. But he saw his brother lift his chin and look into the face of the man holding a gun at his head. David was terrified to look away, terrified to watch.

A dull rumble startled him and yanked his gaze ceilingward. He was quick enough to see a flash of light brighten up the night sky on the other side of the hole. The men on the floor looked up, too, and Nathan stepped back from John. David could see indecision in Nathan's posture. John said something.

"Leave him. Let him go," David whispered under his breath.

Another explosion shook the whole building. David gripped the rail tightly. He saw Nathan's body go furious and he lunged at John with gun raised. A shriek of metal followed a third rumble. A new hole opened into the ceiling, this one smoking at the edges. The lights failed, plunging the whole room into pitch black for an instant before emergency lighting stuttered on.

"John!"

David couldn't see. He couldn't hear over the thunder and falling debris.

The power came back on, and in the sudden reclaimed brightness, David watched his brother sag limply, almost gracefully, to the floor. David fell against the railing.

"No!"

The scream tore from David's throat. His eyes were burning. John lay motionless.

Nathan stepped back, lowered his gun and looked around at the ceiling that continued to rumble. One of Nathan's men bent to feel at John's neck, then kicked at the still form as he stood up. John didn't even twitch at the abuse.

David turned down the hall and ran. He ran like he was being pursued by demons. He slammed into the stairwell and skidded down steps, slipping and catching himself by the railing as he went. When he reached the bottom floor, he flung open the stairwell door and raced out into the falling debris.

He'd only taken two steps when he ran smack into a very solid figure, dressed in full combat gear complete with helmet and plastic shield over his face. There were flashes of light all around the room, and more men appeared. David tried to shove past the soldier, but the man grabbed on tight.

"Please!" David yelled over the noise, "I'm David Sheppard. I'm here with Colonel Sheppard. I have to get to John."

The man nodded and David was relieved to see recognition in the soldier's eyes.

"Where is the Colonel?"

"On the floor. Let me go."

But just then there was a blinding flash and the entire ceiling collapsed. The soldier flung himself over David, protecting him from debris with his heavily armored body. David fought, still trying to get to John.

"The cargo ship is taking out the building. Deadalus, get us out of here!"

David heard the soldier screaming into his radio and then he was swept up in a flash of light. The noise ceased so abruptly, that the absence of sound startled David as thoroughly as another crash. The soldier on top of him rolled neatly off, and immediately stepped away to survey the rest of the soldiers who had appeared in the same room as David in various positions and states of filth.

David pushed himself slowly to his feet and looked around. Fifteen armed men, were squashed into a room that was obviously an infirmary or hospital of some sort. There were no windows and every surface was grey. Something about the texture of the floor sparked a memory, and David remembered his first trip to the SGC.

"Is this the Apollo?" he breathed to no one in particular.

"The Deadalus," answered a voice and David turned to find a tall, well-built man in navy-style jumpsuit approaching him.

"David Sheppard, I'm Colonel Caldwell, commander of the Deadalus. I need to find out what just happened down there."

David could hardly put two thoughts together, but he looked around the room in a sudden panic, "Is John here? Did you get my brother? Where is John?" He saw only uniforms and a puzzled medic.

"Colonel Sheppard isn't on board. Marks says you know where he was. You were together?"

"We went together. We got separated. The last I saw him he was –." David stopped, feeling his throat constrict. Colonel Caldwell shook his head like David was withholding information on purpose.

"He was where, Mr. Sheppard?"

David opened his mouth then shut it again. The words didn't want to come.

The man whom he had crashed into in the factory stepped closer. He'd taken his helmet off and he looked at David with an encouraging smile, "You told me you were looking for Colonel Sheppard on the floor. Can you be more specific? Maybe you can just tell us where you saw him last?"

"I was on the main floor, looking over the balcony railing and John was -." He stopped, cleared his throat. "John was near the East end of the manufacturing floor. He shot a Zat at a crate and it disappeared and then they caught him and then…" David's voice grew softer and softer, fading away.

"He dematerialized a shipping crate?" Caldwell asked, clearly puzzled. But Marks was looking at David carefully, frowning.

"And then – what?" Marks prompted.

David took a shuddering breath. "And then they shot him." David turned to Caldwell. His voice was remarkably steady. "I think Colonel Sheppard is dead, Colonel. I think –. I think I just watched my brother die."


	14. Chapter 14

Rodney sidled into the medical lab and plopped down on a stool with a sigh. He poked at a computer for a few minutes, then glanced at the technician who was sitting on the next stool over.

"Hey," Rodney said, hoping he didn't sound as awkward as he thought he did.

"Hello, Dr. McKay," replied the technician. He had thick red hair and a rosy complexion. Rodney couldn't remember if he'd ever spoken to the man before. He thought he had seen him around in the labs and the infirmary once and a while, though.

Rodney tapped for another minute or two, then looked over again.

"You working on the staph bacteria, too?" Rodney asked.

"Me? No. Not qualified. I'm just a technician. I run blood tests and stuff like that for Dr. Keller. We don't see you in here that often, doctor."

"No. Medicine is definitely not my specialty. But Sheppard's a good friend, and Sgt. Hicks is very sick. I thought I'd try to help out."

"Admirable. I'm Quentin, by the way. Quentin Fletcher."

"Dr. Fletcher."

"No. No, just Fletcher. No "d"s – M, ph, or otherwise."

"Ah," Rodney typed for a second, then leaned towards Fletcher with an air of conspiracy. "This staph infection, Doctor Keller believes that we're dealing with a bioengineered mutation here. Not many people are in on the investigation, but I mention it because you may be in a position to help. We've been focusing all our attention on Hicks and Sheppard. If you see something from another patient, or anything else that seems unusual in your ordinary daily work, make sure you bring it up. Anything could be important."

Fletched seemed to fidget slightly, and Rodney was quick to return to his work at the computer.

"I'll be sure to do that, doctor," Fletcher answered somewhat stiffly. Then, "Does Doctor Keller believe this mutation was created locally? Some enemy of the Colonel's in the Pegasus Galaxy?"

Rodney forced himself to keep looking at the screen. "No. She's pretty certain the bacteria and delivery system are Earth technology." He looked up suddenly, glanced around the room. "Hey, don't tell anyone I told you. Lorne is trying to keep the investigation under wraps. He thinks someone on Atlantis planted the bacteria in Sheppard's path."

"Of course not. Mum's the word. If you'll excuse me, doctor, I have to deliver these samples to Doctor Keller."

"Mmm? Oh, sure."

Rodney watched sidelong as the red-haired technician bolted out of the room.

* * *

Teyla pushed off the wall and walked briskly down the hall after Fletcher. The technician was almost running by the time they turned out of the medical tower. When Fletcher turned into the corridors that led towards the main control tower, she nodded thoughtfully to herself. Interesting. She hung back far enough to stay out of earshot, but kept him in her sights. She tapped her earpiece and spoke quietly into it.

"He's heading towards the duty room."

"Understood. We'll pick him up when he gets here."

"Understood."

Teyla followed Fletcher until he turned into the duty room, and then she passed on by.

* * *

Major Lorne looked up from the paperwork on his desk – Sheppard's desk actually – and spotted Fletcher race towards the duty desk. Lorne shuffled a stack into a neat pile, and waited until the now very nervous-looking Fletcher finished asking his questions. Lorne quickly looked down when Fletcher shot a worried glance his way, and then raced to the duty desk once Fletcher had left the room.

"Who did he ask for?" Lorne asked quickly.

The duty desk officer jumped at the urgency in Lorne's voice. "Lieutenant Kaulkin, sir."

"Where is Lt. Kaulkin? Where did you send him?"

"Kaulkin's about to head offworld with Major Harrison's team. I told him to go to the ready room if he needs to catch him before he's gone."

Lorne acknowledged, then tapped his earpiece, "Ronon, send your team to the ready room. Apprehend Lt. Kaulkin and Fletcher, and hold the rest of Major Harrison's team for questioning."

"Got it," came Ronon's reply. "We're on our way."

"So am I."

Teyla, Lorne and Ronon reached the ready room at the same time. Lorne waved in Ronon's security force, waited for the initial confrontation to play out, then ducked into the room with Teyla at his side. The ready room was cramped with both teams packed into it, but Ronon had Harrison's team and Fletcher backed up against the lockers, his own men standing in easy readiness.

Major Harrison flicked a stern, but calm look at Lorne.

"What's the trouble, Lorne?"

"Mr. Fletcher and Lt. Kaulkin are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. We need you to ask the rest of your team to cooperate for the time being."

"Of course," Harrison looked shocked. He turned to his man, Kaulkin. "Philip? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sir, I don't have to say nothing." Kaulkin had turned pale and looked like he might pass out from fright. "You can't prove nothing."

"We can," Ronon growled and took a menacing step towards the cowering lieutenant. "We have transmissions that we can trace to your friend here. We have three bounty hunters in custody that have agreed to identify their contact."

Kaulkin closed his eyes and turned to hiss at Fletcher, "You said there was no way they'd figure it out! You said –."

"Shut up!" snarled Fletcher but Kaulkin turned to his commander, begging with his expression.

"Sir! You've got to protect me. Fletcher said he'd take out the whole city if I didn't help him, he said –."

"Get out of my sight," Harrison growled in disgust, turning away. Lorne saw the betrayal in the Major's eyes and felt a tiny instant of relief. The Major's reaction had convinced him, at least, that Harrison wasn't involved. Kaulkin sank against a locker and closed his eyes.

"Ronon, take them to the holding cells. Harrison, I'd appreciate it if you went with them for now. Hopefully we'll get this sorted out and you can get out of there soon."

Harrison and the rest of his team began to move slowly towards the door, led by Teyla and Lorne. Ronon's men gathered more closely around Kaulkin and Fletcher.

"Move," Ronon bellowed.

Fletcher took one look the group of men standing around him and shrugged. He turned to his co-conspirator.

"Sorry, Phil," he said. Something in Fletcher's voice turned Lorne's head.

"Grenade!" Ronon bellowed.

Ronon threw his men back from the suspects. Harrison shoved Lorne into the hall. The explosion that shook the ready room was muffled, almost wet sounding. Lorne got his feet under him and dove back into the room. Ronon was rolling off the top of the pile of security guards. They were filthy, but seemed unharmed. And as for Kaulkin and Fletcher –

"Oh…shit," Lorne whispered swallowing back bile.

- There wasn't too much left of them.

* * *

Lorne, McKay, Teyla, Ronon and Woolsey stood gathered around Woolsey's desk. Rodney saw Woolsey sigh with a great breath of frustration.

"So did we learn anything before our suspects killed themselves?" he asked.

"We still have the transmission that we caught broadcasting to Earth during the last open wormhole, and the others that we found in the logs, although we don't have the content of those," Rodney replied, realizing that it was precious little.

"And our bounty hunters confirm that Kaulkin was the one who approached them with the offer. Harrison is beating himself up about it. That team has been on community relations for months. Hell of a way to _relate_."

"We're pretty certain that we have identified everyone involved on Atlantis. Our interviews of Kaulkin and Fletcher's friends and co-workers suggest that they were working together," Lorne added.

"That's good. Do we have any idea why these two were working together? What they hoped to accomplish by assassinating Colonel Sheppard?"

"That's been harder," McKay agreed. "No one has suggested they seemed disgruntled. Kaulkin was a model soldier until he started posting wanted signs." He looked at the faces around him. "At this point, the trail leads to the SGC. I suggest we pass on the information and have them pick up the investigation there. Fletcher was transmitting to someone on Earth. If we learn who that someone is, we'll be closer to understanding why they were acting here."

"I'm going anyway," Ronon reminded them. "I'll take the information."

"I will assist with the investigation when I arrive as well," Teyla added. "Torren and Kanaan will join us on Earth in a week to join me on the journey home when the Daedalus leaves."

Rodney wrung his hands, indecisive. He desperately wanted to return to Earth, but not to continue the investigation. He wanted to check up on Sheppard. But he also felt compelled to continue working on the cure here. If only…

"I'm going too," a new voice announced, and all heads turned to watch Jennifer walk into the room and join them. "Richard, I'd like to take my research and continue working on an antidote back on Earth where I can also keep an eye on Colonel Sheppard. That way, I'll be that much closer to him to deliver any treatments we discover."

"Permission granted, doctor," Woolsey agreed immediately. "But what about Sgt. Hicks? Would you like him relocated as well?"

Jennifer closed her eyes briefly and a sad expression crossed her face. "I just put Sgt. Hicks in stasis. His system was becoming overwhelmed by the infection. He was on the verge of permanent organ damage. Even if he lived for another forty-eight hours, the damage would be lifetime debilitating. At least in stasis, he won't get any worse. If we find a treatment, he'll have time to receive it. John on the other hand…"

"I understand." Woolsey sat down at his desk and looked up at the group, suddenly seeming almost amused to Rodney. "Well. My military commander, chief of medicine, and chief scientist are all off base at once. I suppose it's going to be quiet around here for a few weeks."

"I hope so," muttered Lorne, looking left out. Rodney could sympathize.

There was a moment of contemplation.

"Well. Let's go!" Ronon snapped impatiently.

"Yes!" Rodney agreed. The meeting broke up quickly.

An hour later, he stood with Jennifer, Teyla, Ronon and a pile of luggage on the gate platform watching the lights chase their way around as the technicians dialed Earth. Once the wormhole was established, Rodney grabbed up his duffel back and scuffled for a moment with Ronon over who was going to help Jennifer with hers. Then they stood waiting for the go ahead from above.

It was Woolsey who called down to them.

"The SGC is expecting you. Report to Dr. Lam in the infirmary for briefing and medical check-in."

"Is Sheppard already there?" Jennifer called back up. Woolsey leaned against the balcony railing.

"No. There's apparently been some trouble. You'll be briefed once you're there."

"What kind of trouble could he get into at his brother's courtroom drama?" Rodney exclaimed. They'd sent the recall instructions hours ago. Surely even John wasn't so stubborn he'd ignore orders of that magnitude? Rodney turned to Keller. She looked just as surprised.

"Let's go," she said, almost running to the event horizon. Ronon was right behind her. Rodney walked more slowly, thinking as he followed Teyla.

_What the hell are you up to, Sheppard? _


	15. Chapter 15

John became aware of his arm first. He was lying on his side and it hurt. After a while of lying and hurting, John finally decided to roll over and get off his arm. Yeah. That made sense. He concentrated on moving to his back and discovered something else. His head hurt too. A lot. And why did his hands feel numb?

John opened his eyes a crack, then closed them tightly shut when the room went sideways and started spinning. He breathed deeply for a few moments, forcing down nausea. As he panted and gulped, the rest of his body decided to chime in with its complaints, and he was momentarily overwhelmed.

At long last, John forced down the clamor and took another chance at opening his eyes. He was still on his side after all, and his hands were tied together in front of him. Question answered. He moved his head a little, then winced as doing so set off the throbbing all over again. Someone had whacked him on the head. That had to be the reason he felt like a baseball was trying to embed itself into his right temple.

He moved a little more and looked around a little more. He was on the floor, not a bed. And everything was gold. Gold floor, gold ceiling, weird gold walls that for some reason made him think of that field trip to the museum in third grade where he'd gotten in trouble for trying to look in the mummy's coffin.

"Oh…shit," he groaned. He was on the cargo ship.

His last memory was of taunting Larsen and then the world had exploded into sparks. Larsen must have changed his mind about killing him. John winced again and wondered if he'd come out ahead on that score or not.

He may have dozed off for a few minutes before a murmur of voices pulled him back into the museum. Ship. He was on a ship. John pushed himself upright to sit against a wall. It took a lot more effort than it should have. The voices were coming from the other side of the gleaming wall that he could only assume must also be a door. Unsurprisingly, he was alone in the room, but to his great surprise, he was in the cargo ship's ring room. Was Larsen really that stupid?

John braced against the wall and lurched to his feet. The room spun a little, but not badly and John was coming to the conclusion that despite the gun butt to the temple, the dizzy spells were due more to fever than to concussion. He'd stopped chilling and sweating – for the moment – but he could feel the heat behind his eyes. It was the kind of fever he'd had once at the Academy from viral meningitis. They'd had him on IV fluids and fever suppressors for a week so his brain didn't cook.

Feeling shaky and weak, he took careful steps over to the ring controls. A few pokes at the panel confirmed that Larsen had made at least a tepid attempt to block access from the room. John smirked anyway. He wasn't as good as McKay, but he'd learned a few things at the feet of the master about cracking codes.

He'd only gotten as far as finding the menus he needed when the door slid open and the voices from the other room grew loud and shrill. Someone was having a rather heated conversation. He pressed against the wall where he stood, working on keeping the butterflies in his stomach from eating their way through his abdomen.

Two of the men from the DaeNaq facility entered together, took a quick glance at the floor where John had woken up, then tensed as they flicked their eyes around the rest of the room. John waved.

"Hi, guys. I'm up. When's breakfast?"

Rather than reply, the men just grabbed him by both arms and hauled him through the door. John was fighting so hard not to pass out from the pain as he was manhandled and the dizziness from being forced to move quickly, that he didn't even have a snappy word for Larsen when John was presented before him.

"Colonel Sheppard, identify yourself. Dimitri, you're annoying me with your delays."

Larsen sounded angry. John was confused for a moment until he realized that Larsen had addressed the second sentence to a screen set into a dashboard underneath a wide cockpit window. John's heart sank. The window showed only velvety space beyond the glossy sheen of the shields. Even if they were only in orbit around earth – cloaked he assumed – he was definitely too far from ground to risk a solo exit. He'd need to connect with a ring terminal on the ground to go so far. A man John didn't recognize sat at the pilot's chair holding his hands to a large glowing globe.

"I said, identify yourself!"

Larsen waved angrily and John was shoved forward to be held like a pony at a show in front of the communications screen. The image on the screen was of a distinguished looking grey-haired man.

"I'm Batman," John said because that was the first thing that came to his mind.

The blow he'd been expecting caught him in the kidney, and he gasped, trying to sink to his knees. His handlers held him up, and there was a moment of awkward juggling as John simply couldn't keep his feet under him.

"Try again, Colonel."

"Colonel Sanders. Colonel Blimp. Hey did you know that Colonel is one of the oldest ranks in existence?" John was babbling nonsense, because the truth was that he hurt too damn much, and felt too damn bad to come up with anything wittier.

This time the penalty, a fist in his gut that happened to align with the Colt pistol shaped bruise on his beltline, dropped him all the way to the floor. He slithered out of the handlers' grip to curl in a heap where he lay trying hard not to vocalize the groans that were building in his throat.

"Enough, Nathan. The man's half-dead already. No need to make his last hours any more uncomfortable than they already will be. I'm convinced. That you have who you say you have, anyway. But I still see no benefit to me that you do."

"He's SGC. One of them. You can use him. Bargain for him, or drain his brain or something."

John twitched at that. So that's why Larsen kept him around. Larsen's operation at DaeNaq went south, the SGC caught up with him, and now Larsen wanted back in with the Trust. For protection no doubt. He must have figured out that escaping with his neck wouldn't pay the bills.

"And by offering me such a valuable commodity, your reward would no doubt be the protection of the Trust."

Hey, he was right! John almost liked this guy Dimitri. Screw Larsen.

"Of course," Larsen replied, sounding impatient. "The SGC got nothing out of DaeNaq. The building's a pile of rubble. No harm done. We built the grid neutralizer once, I can do it again. You need me."

John suddenly got real interested, and struggled to sit up. The building was destroyed?

"You arrogance surprises even me. Thanks to your spectacular failure, the SGC will never rest until you are brought in. You're a liability, Nathan. You have no further value to us. Tell Colonel Sheppard that I admire his resourcefulness. If you have any heart left, Nathan, send him back to his family. No one deserves to die alone. Not even you." Dimitri paused, then said, "Take care of that hand, Nathan."

John wondered how Larsen – who indeed had a bandage taped to his hand – would respond to the strange comment, but the screen went blank. Larsen spun away from the console, and John cringed, expecting a kick or some expression of fury to be directed at him. Instead, Larsen paced in circles for a moment while John watched from his spot on the floor. He should be concentrating on some kind of escape. But John was finding it very hard to think about anything except whether or not Dave had gotten out of that building.

"So. What now?" John asked at last, hoping to prod Larsen into revealing something. "You lost your Sugar Daddy. You lost DaeNaq and blew up the building. The SGC will have you on every wanted list in the galaxy, so you can't go back to PSI. You going to just hang out in your pretty little ship and blow things up for fun?"

"Dimitri is a fool. You are a prize he will regret rejecting."

"My wife always said I was a catch. Until she divorced me, that is. I won't tell you anything."

Larsen stopped pacing to give John his full attention. John suppressed a shudder.

"There are all kinds of ways a man can be useful," Larsen said softly.

"An hour ago you were just going to kill me. Why the sudden interest in my usefulness?"

Larsen wagged his head as if conceding the point, "I admit that revenge clouded my judgment for a moment. But I remembered in time that there is always time for revenge."

"I'm sure the Daedalus breathing down your neck had nothing to do with it," John muttered. Nathan just went on

"Should you decide to cooperate, you may live long enough to realize that there are all kinds of revenge."

"I won't cooperate," John whispered.

"I don't expect you to. At first."

Larsen walked to the command chair and sat down, looking like a pompous king on a throne. Left to his own devices, John pulled on the dashboard and stood up, watching Larsen warily. There was nowhere to run, Larsen seemed to know that. John glanced at the dashboard, wondering if there was some button he could hit that would send out an SOS before he was stopped. The pilot's cool gaze met his, warning in the expression. John sighed.

"So? What?" he snapped finally, impatient with the waiting. He really wanted to get back to the ring controls.

Larsen was pulling on his lip, thinking. When he finally nodded to himself and cocked his head at John, the cold glee in his eyes sent John reaching for the control panel to hold himself up over shaking legs.

"Zane, bring me the fire stick," Larsen said.


	16. Chapter 16

_David opened the door to his condominium and tossed his keys on the table that sat nearby. He saw the stack of duffel bags beside the coat rack and hurried to hang his jacket up._

_"John? Are you here?"_

_"Yeah," came the unenthusiastic reply from deeper in the house._

_David looked first in the small living room where John had been camping since he and Nancy had separated. John had tidied up the space, and put away the pile of pillows and blankets that had been beside the couch all week. John was leaving? A clink drew him down the hall towards the guest bathroom and David found John at last, stuffing toiletries into his shaving kit and wiping down the sink as he went._

_David hesitated in the doorframe. _

_"I just came from the office. Dad's furious, John. What did you do?"_

_John twitched and David could see his brother controlling his own anger._

_"Nothing. I did nothing. At least that's what Dad says. I'm leaving, Dave. I'm not welcome here any more."_

_"What are you talking about? You can stay on the couch as long as you like. I just don't understand what happened between you and Dad?"_

_John flicked a look at him and David saw a sad little smile turn up the corners of his mouth. _

_"Thanks for putting me up. I mean that."_

_John finished and shoved past with his kit in his hand. David followed and watched as John put a few last things in the final duffel bag and heaved the strap over his shoulder. He was dressed in his BDUs, David finally realized as John next went to the door and lifted the remaining two bags easily. For some reason, John looked suddenly much older. There was little of his kid brother in the man that stood before him._

_John was opening the door and had turned to leave before David found his voice again._

_"Wait. Where are you going? Where will you stay?"_

_John paused, "I've accepted a post overseas. I got my orders today. I ship out in the morning."_

_"You're running!" David found himself saying, anger mingling with worry. He knew his brother was hurting. He'd managed to get John drunk once this past week, enough to hear him verbalize the anguish over Nancy he was concealing. John didn't like to get drunk, even as a rowdy teen. He didn't like to lose control._

_"You're upset and you're running. Just give Dad some time, give yourself some time. Don't do anything rash right now. You're not thinking straight right now."_

_"I think maybe I'm seeing things clearly for the first time in my life. Dad said -." John cut himself off. "I'm sure Dad will fill you in later," he finished, his voice bitter. He walked through the door._

_"John!" David called from the threshold, but he didn't know what else to say. John just walked the short distance to his car and threw the bags in the back seat. He paused one last time before he got into the driver's seat. John lifted his chin and looked back at David, his posture determined, his expression an unusual mixture of anger and pain._

_"Goodbye, Dave," he said._

* * *

David sat in the corner of the conference room at the SGC. He was sprawled in a padded chair, resting his head quietly on his arm that was propped against the chair's wooden frame. His eyes were closed.

The room was crowded, but the noise of many conversations at once swirled around him like wind around a stump. He wasn't connected to any of it. He was a rock in a stream. He was numb.

Once he'd been beamed to the SGC in Colorado Springs, he'd spent the next several hours telling General Landry, Colonel Caldwell and the other command officers everything he knew about DaeNaq and finding the scanner and trying to contact John. The crowd had grown the longer he'd talked.

Well into the conversation more people had arrived – Agent Barrett from some agency David didn't recognize called the NID questioned him at length about Nathan Larsen and any connections David could remember Nathan mentioning. Members of the IOA appeared at some point too, although David couldn't think of why an oversight committee would have any interest in espionage.

At long last, the conversation had continued in earnest without David's participation and he'd been pushed into the corner, alone. Which suited him fine. He didn't think he could relive those last moments in the doomed building even one more time.

He shifted restlessly in the chair, then closed his eyes again. Pieces of conversation filtered in and out of consciousness.

_"We can confirm Trust activity at the DaeNaq site, sir. The Goa'uld that Colonel Sheppard reported at the scene has been identified as a known Trust operative."_

David had never heard of the Trust before Agent Barrett had questioned him.

_"Three bodies have been uncovered on the manufacturing level so far, sir."_

David raised his head sharply at the words.

_"Colonel Sheppard?"_

_"We don't think so. They don't meet the description, but they were all burned pretty badly. Dr. Lam will do autopsies to attempt ID."_

David dropped his head down again.

_"Area 51 confirms there are inventory abnormalities. Several Naquadah Generators are missing, along with a complete shipment of raw naquadah. Atlantis reports they've uncovered an assassination attempt on Colonel Sheppard on Atlantis. The suspects had been communicating with someone within the SGC."_

_"Gentlemen, I'm going to go out on a limb and say we're not dealing with coincidences here. I'm ordering a full investigation. We have the Trust meddling in our business from Area 51 to Atlantis. Go to full alert. All communications are to be monitored, all sensitive projects are to be suspended, double the guard throughout the SGC and Area 51."_

_"Yes, General!"_

"David?"

David blinked at the voice. He looked blearily up to see Dr. McKay standing in front of him wearing an expression of deep concern.

"Dr. McKay?" David croaked, quite surprised. He'd assumed John's friends were still on Atlantis.

"Would you like to get out of here?" McKay jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the crowd still talking intently around the conference table. They were also still ignoring David.

"Yes. I would like that a great deal." David pushed himself wearily to his feet. McKay waved him to follow and he was led through the confusing concrete complex to a much smaller conference room. To his further shock, Ronon, Teyla and Dr. Keller were all there waiting for him. He shook hands dazedly with Ronon, then found Dr. Keller wrapped around his middle in a fierce welcoming hug.

She pulled away before David could blush too deeply, then held him at arms length.

"David. Are you alright?"

David found his knees shaking and he sat down at the small table, hoping he didn't look as close to collapse as he felt.

"I've been better," he admitted. He took a couple of deep, panicky breaths, then folded his hands on the table. "Listen, you are all John's friends. You should know that he… That –."

"We've been briefed," McKay interrupted. "The SGC is completely focused on this Trust infestation that you've stirred up. Looking for John is on their list, but left to their own devices, it'll be a week before they pull their heads out of their investigations to start. If you can tell _us_ what happened, we'll begin our own search and rescue immediately."

"Search and Rescue? I don't understand. I saw Nathan Larsen put a gun to John's head. I saw him fall to the ground. There is no search and rescue, except maybe for his body. John is dead."

It was suddenly too much. God he needed to talk to Julia. He needed to be alone for a few minutes because he wasn't going to be able to hold back the grief for much longer. The guilt. David covered his eyes with a hand, fighting the hitch in his breath that was threatening to become a sob.

There was an awkward silence and David could almost see the glances passed around the others at the table. It was Teyla who spoke first.

"It may be the case that John was killed in the building that was destroyed, David. But we do not believe so."

David looked at her, startled. "You don't believe so?"

McKay shook his head. "I've been over the Daedalus logs. John was not in the building when the strike force beamed into the manufacturing floor. Our guess is that he was taken aboard the cargo ship before they arrived and then ran into you."

"But if he was killed -."

"Wouldn't matter. His subcutaneous transmitter would have continued to broadcast."

Teyla reached over to touch David's hand lightly. "We do not believe that this Nathan Larsen would have taken John into his ship if he were dead."

David was shocked at how quickly hope returned and grief seemed to slide away. John wasn't dead? John wasn't dead! How he wanted to believe that. He thought through the conversation again and leaned over the table. "So, John's a hostage?"

"Or prisoner. Do you have any idea as to Larsen's intentions?" Dr. Keller asked.

"I have no clue. I thought he was stealing technology to sell to the open market. I had no idea how involved or dangerous it would get. What can we do?"

McKay was thumping his thumbs on the table. "We need to find the cargo ship."

"You said it had a cloak," Ronon said.

"We've spent some time since the last time a cloaked cargo ship was causing trouble on modifying the sensors on the Daedalus to detect the cloak."

"But…?" Ronon pressed.

"But, we haven't made a lot of progress. We have a chance of spotting the ship, but we'd have to be pretty close to it to do so. I'll return to the Daedalus and get them to run a search pattern. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"You just need to get lucky in the next twelve hours," Dr. Keller replied, as if reminding him of something he already knew. David was confused by the look of concerned understanding that flashed through the group around him.

"Why twelve hours?" he asked.

"No one told you about the infection?"

"What infection?" David was feeling panicky again. Keller looked embarrassed, like she'd let a secret slip she shouldn't have. Or like she hadn't prepared herself for what she needed to say.

"John was infected three days ago by a genetically mutated pathogen that is resistant to all antibiotics that we've come up with so far. If he doesn't begin treatment soon, then the infection will quickly overwhelm his system and lead to organ failure, then death."

"So John will die within twelve hours if he isn't returned for treatment?"

Jennifer flicked a look at McKay who just shrugged in defeat. "We have no cure at the moment even if he does make it back. But treatment may slow down the progress. I'll keep trying. I promise I'll do everything within my power to come up with something."

"But you're saying that even if we find him, if by some miracle you find this cloaked ship and rescue him from it, John will still mostly likely die?"

"We're working on it," McKay repeated lamely.

David leaped out of the chair to pace furiously by the door. The others murmured among themselves for a moment longer, then Teyla and McKay left the room, touching him briefly as they passed in silent support. David just paced faster. Keller finally stepped into his manic circle and spoke his name, deep concern in her voice.

"Don't give up, David. If I've learned anything during my time with your brother, it's that it's never too late."

David stopped to look at her, recognizing something in her voice that he needed to hear. She smiled a bit shyly and went on, "John flew a jumper through a tower wall once to deliver a cure to me; a cure that he tested on himself first at great risk. He wouldn't give up on any of us. Don't give up on him."

"I'm not -. I just –." He felt shame burning on his cheeks as he tried to explain. "I lost my brother when he was 30. Lost him to misunderstanding and foolish pride. That we have any kind of connection today at all is a miracle. When I saw him…die today…"

David looked Dr. Keller in the eye. "I don't think I can go through that again."

"You will if you have to," Ronon suddenly interrupted. David thought he looked angry. "You're a Sheppard. I've seen the fight in you. You're strong."

"John's the one with fight."

"Then maybe you should act more like him."

"I did. I was rash and impulsive. I insisted we go to DaeNaq. I got John into this because I was too stubborn to ask for help from the SGC sooner. Oh, I tried, halfheartedly. But I was busy being hurt and put out by the fact that John didn't answer my messages. This is my fault. John is dying, because of me!"

David was shouting, waving his arms, but somehow the confession felt good, like a pressure was lifting from his chest. Ronon cocked his head.

"Yeah, you're probably right." David frowned and Ronon went on. "You probably got Sheppard into this, even though you didn't know it at first. McKay says they think the Trust was after your company."

Ronon stepped closer, putting his face in David's. David held his ground. "If you want to make up for it, you'll sit by his side and watch him die with honor. Because he'd do it for you."

David looked away and Ronon sauntered out of the room, looking pleased. Jennifer laughed nervously.

"He's just a little -. Um, hey do you want any breakfast? Commissary is open."

"Sure," David answered with a sigh. He welcomed the distraction.

"Let's go," she said gently, tugging on his arm. But they had made it no further than the first turn, when Ronon and Teyla were back with another solider.

"They want you in the control room," Ronon said.

The control room was packed with people, despite the early hour of the morning, and a row of monitors showed everything from statistics in an alien script that might have been mathematics to a powerpoint slideshow of activities on the base. David watched a list of today's lunch menu slide by before he was pulled to another monitor that displayed the image of a man, grey-haired and severe looking.

General Landry met them at the screen and waved his hand at the image.

"We just got a transmission from this man who calls himself Perses," he said brusquely.

David just nodded, wondering why they were telling him. Landry was watching his reaction closely. After a moment David crossed his arms.

"I don't know who that is," he said simply, thinking that maybe they were hoping he could identify him.

"Are you certain?"

"Of course."

"Our sources say that Perses is a known Trust leader, one of the highest in the organization. His host is Dimitri Kolohov."

Host? He didn't know what that term meant, but the name rang a bell and David struggled to concentrate. "Kolohov is high up in RAO, the Russian power monopoly, isn't he?"

"Yes. You've never met him?"

"No. I've just read his name."

"You're certain?"

David was getting annoyed. He'd answered the question, he hadn't slept in 24 hours and he was a little bit worried about his brother at the moment. He couldn't understand why the General was grilling him about Russian power executives.

"Why are you asking, General? I've told you everything I know. If this man has called you out of the blue why the hell should I care?"

Landry threw back his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back.

"Because, Mr. Sheppard. He's asking for you."


	17. Chapter 17

David squared his shoulders and brushed futilely at the wrinkled windbreaker he still wore over a wrinkled shirt. If he'd had time, he would have changed into something that was at least clean. He always negotiated better when he felt in control of his appearance. It was a luxury he couldn't afford now, so he gave up the primping and clasped his hands behind his back as General Landry returned from across the room to stand next to him.

"Are you ready, Mr. Sheppard?" Landry asked. "You understand that this is not something you have to do. I'm certain Perses will tell us what he wants to tell us without your involvement. Goa'uld love a chance to gloat. He'll be no different."

"You said that this Perses is an agent in the Trust."

"Yes."

"And that the Trust is responsible for the plot to gain control of PSI, discredit me, and assassinate both me and my brother?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm ready, General Landry."

David turned away and faced the communications monitor without another look at the General. McKay, Teyla, and Ronon were watching from across the room. There was something about their presence that was reassuring. The rest of these people were doing their jobs, but the team that stood at his back were friends. The thought amazed him. He'd met them only once before, but such was their devotion to his brother, that they had adopted him into their friendship as well. Once they'd knocked him down a peg or two.

He lifted his chin, and rocked back onto his heels, preparing himself for the conversation. This was no different than a meeting with a competitor, he told himself. Piece of cake.

"The line is open," someone shouted from the bank of control panels. David flicked a glance at the General who nodded.

"This is David Sheppard," David told the screen. "You asked to speak with me?"

The image on the screen smiled pleasantly.

"Thank you for accepting my call, Mr. Sheppard. I'm pleased that you escaped the DaeNaq facility unharmed."

"You are?"

"Well, not really. You and your brother, Colonel Sheppard, have ruined nearly three years of planning and investment within a single month. I admit to a falsehood in the name of pleasantry. But I would be naïve not to admit that some of the blame is ours as well. Placing the DaeNaq project in the hands of Nathan Larsen was a mistake that became the undoing of the project."

"If you'll permit me an admission of my own, Mr. Kolohov, I don't care. Just tell me what you want."

"I want to arrange a meeting. A simple, private conversation between two colleagues. You are aware that I have some small responsibility within the Russian energy community?"

"Yes." It was all David could choke out he was so surprised. A meeting?

"Then we have lots in common."

"I have nothing in common with you," David found himself snarling.

"Perhaps more than you think. In any case, I guarantee you will wish to hear what I have to say."

"I don't agree to meetings without an agenda."

"Our topics will include PSI, Nathan Larsen and Colonel Sheppard. Does that agenda interest you?"

David narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm interested."

"Good. Then we have only to arrange the time and place."

"One moment!" General Landry chopped at his neck to cut communications and pulled David away from the monitor. Perses was chuckling on the screen. "Mr. Sheppard, you aren't considering accepting this offer are you?"

David blinked, thought about it for a moment. "What if I am?"

Landry looked at him as if he was sizing up a horse about to enter the track.

"If you are, it could get us a shot at the highest profile Trust operative known to our intelligence. It would also be the single most dangerous assignment I can think of. I wouldn't ask any but my most experienced operatives to undertake something like this."

"But if I meet with this man, I could learn something for your investigation that will bring the Trust to justice?"

"I had in mind that if you met with this man, you could take him out."

David shuddered. Could he do something like this? He was no undercover agent. He had no experience at cloak and dagger. This was John's world. His brother was the one who knew how to inspect a gun, how to work a Zat, and knew that Goa'uld jumped out at you when you thought they were dead. But John wasn't here. John was being held prisoner by these people who were offering to meet with him. David was suddenly emboldened by a wave of fury.

"Could you protect me? Give me a-, a wire or something. Beam me out if something goes wrong?'

"There are no guarantees, Mr. Sheppard. The Trust is a very smart, very dangerous enemy."

"He knows something about John."

"He should, he's very likely the one who poisoned the Colonel."

"Exactly! General, if Perses wanted to kill me he'd just keep trying through less direct means and most probably succeed, eventually. But this man wants something. I can tell. And if I have something he wants, I'm relatively safe until he gets it."

"Relatively, seems an important word. And once he gets what he wants, where is the guarantee that he won't kill you then?"

"You're my guarantee, General." At Landry's quelling look, David rolled his eyes, "Within understood constraints."

"I can't say that I want to try real hard to talk you out of this, Mr. Sheppard. We've been at stalemate with the Trust for years. But you must be absolutely certain you are willing to go through with it. If you back out at the last minute, it puts our people at risk for no profit, and I won't do that."

David took three deep slow breaths, held Landry's gaze.

"I'm certain. I have to find out what this man knows about John."

Landry's lips twitched into a smile. He was pleased. David returned to the monitor, and signaled that the connection be restored himself.

"I will meet with you," David told the image on the screen. Perses beamed with pleasure bordering on triumph. For an instant his eyes seemed to glow with an unholy internal light and David reflected on the memory of the Goa'uld at the loading dock. He no longer felt any horror at the thought of its death.

"I'm thrilled. I had feared that your over-protective General would dissuade you."

"He's quite enthusiastic about the idea, really," was David's smooth reply. Perses' gloat faltered slightly as David went on. "I am turning the planning for our _conversation_ over to him and his people. You will agree to their terms completely, or there will be no meeting."

"Most prudent," Perses said, sounding less pleased by the second.

"Until then."

David tilted his head in farewell and waved the General to the screen. He then walked over to Teyla who looked surprised when he bent to address her personally.

"I have a favor to ask you," he said.

* * *

When John woke up this time, he wished he hadn't. Every muscle was twisted into knots, and he was shivering again, but not from chills. Instead, his body just seemed to be trembling from the inability to stop itself from doing so. He licked dry and cracked lips and realized that the fever still hadn't let up. He was on the verge of dehydration.

The frightening thought sent him scrambling to stand on wobbly legs. He was back in the ring room, locked in and alone again. Using the wall as a brace, he made his way to the ring controls and poked frantically through the menus with shaking fingers. It was awkward with his hands tied together, and tiring to hold both arms up at once. He had to get out of here before he was too weak to even stand up, he realized. Or before Larsen came back with the fire stick.

John shuddered. Larsen wasn't a very efficient thug. He didn't have any specific information he wanted from John and John got the sense that Larsen was unsure as to what he really wanted to do with his prisoner. Larsen had gone for the stick first, which was both blessing and curse. Curse because it hurt like a motherfucker – John could add one more 'thing he really didn't like' to his list of stuff bad guys did to him. Blessing because John had passed out in the first thirty seconds, unable to feel the torture, much less answer questions.

He poked more furiously. His time was running out, on so many clocks that he couldn't count the ways he was screwed if he didn't hurry.

A menu scrolled by under his frantic searching and he paused, flicking back to the screen that had just passed by. It was a scanner of sorts, customized to look for ring terminals that the ship could connect to. He bit his lip, thinking. If he activated the scanner, he might find a terminal close enough to ring to, but it would almost certainly register on the panel in the cockpit that he was doing so. John glanced nervously at the door.

He'd need to disable the code that was blocking the ring controls, then he'd need to keep that door closed long enough for him to scan for a terminal and ring out. Sure, that was all.

He flipped back to the main menu and began the tedious task of breaking Larsen's code. He leaned against the wall as he worked, bracing himself to keep from shaking. His face felt hot, his eyes felt like they were sinking into his skull. His heart had started lurching with more than adrenaline.

Oh yeah, piece of cake.

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

Julia paced in her office, no longer even pretending to work. She'd spent a sleepless night by her phone, then had come in at the crack of dawn hoping futilely that there would be some message waiting for her. David wouldn't answer his cell, and she suspected that his mailbox might be full from the number of messages she'd left begging him to call her back.

John had given her no way to get in touch with him. She'd called Peterson and gotten a different reply than usual – Colonel Sheppard was under recall orders and would be returning to base soon, try again later. Recall orders? What did that mean? Had he gotten to David or not?

She had just about decided to call her pilot and get on the jet to Pennsylvania when the phone rang. It wasn't the cell phone she and David used, but she pounced on the company line anyway, hoping to hear something from anyone.

"Julia, I'm so glad… It's really good to hear your voice," said David softly from the other end of the line. His voice sounded stressed and at the same time quietly relieved.

Julia sank into her chair. "David, thank God. I've been so worried."

"I know, I know. Listen, I can't even begin to explain everything, but they let me call to tell you that I've asked for you to be put in protective custody. A friend of mine and an NID agent are en route to meet you, and then I want you to go with them to Colorado Springs."

"Protective custody? Why? What's happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm… I was right about PSI, Julia. But it goes deeper than Nathan Larsen trying to take over the company for himself. The technology for the generator we saw was stolen from the government. Ironically, from the very unit that John works for."

"So that's why you were so insistent you talk to John first. You suspected the connection. John found you, then? He caught you before you got to DaeNaq, yesterday?"

"Yes," David's voice tightened and Julia could tell instantly that he was hiding something from her. "We went to DaeNaq together and…found enough evidence to get John's command involved."

"You went to DaeNaq anyway? John was supposed to stop you from going there. I told him to talk you out of it!"

Julia found her voice growing sharp, and she realized that her anger was growing out of a sudden sense of foreboding. David only chuckled softly.

"John said he was afraid of you. I'm glad you got to meet him, once. I'm working with the Air Force during their investigations into this espionage ring. Which is why you must accept protective custody and go with Teyla and Agent Daylon."

Julia's alarm grew the more David talked. David was high strung and passionate and the calm, almost resigned voice on the phone was so out of character it was bordering on frightening.

"Is John with you, now?" Maybe he could tell her what was wrong with David.

"John's missing, Julia. I'm going to meet with one of the organizers of the espionage ring and maybe trade for information that will lead us to his rescue. I have to do this."

"Holy crap, David." Her voice was soft with shock on top of shock.

"Just stay with Teyla and Agent Daylon. They will get you to Colorado Springs where I'll meet you when I'm done. I hope."

And it suddenly made sense. David wasn't sure he was coming back from this meeting. He'd arranged for her protection, and was calling to say good-bye. She slammed her fist down on her desk.

"David Sheppard, of all the soldiers and police and FBI and – what the hell did you call it – NID? there's no one else that can talk to this informant? Why the hell does it have to be you?"

"Because they asked for me. Because I might learn something that could help find John."

"David -."

"Please. I can't argue with you. I have to leave soon. Just promise me you'll do what they tell you?"

Julia chewed on her lip while David waited for her answer. "If I say no, will it stop you from going?"

David laughed, a warm, genuine laugh and Julia felt her eyes tear in frustration. "You already know the answer. You always do. I love you, Julia. I don't say it enough."

"Damn you, David."

"Promise me," he repeated.

"I promise."

"Good."

There was a heartbeat of silence and Julia could sense that David's thoughts were turning to what was coming next. "I should go. I'll see you as soon as I can."

"Promise me?"

"I -. I wish I could."

"Then I love you David Sheppard. And I'll never forgive you if you go and get yourself killed. And tell John when you find him that I owe him a few words. And - " Julia stopped, hearing the catch in her own voice. She was stalling. She didn't want to stop talking because she was afraid she'd never hear his voice again.

"I know. I've got to go."

"Good bye."

"Good bye."

Julia hung up and rose slowly to her feet to stand by the window. It was a surprisingly clear and warmish day outside, but she hugged herself as if chilled. The street below was well lit with late morning sun, and the cars on the roof of the parking garage reflected it in blinding twinkles. Her own sporty sedan was parked in the corner spot, the sign with her name clearly visible. She laughed to herself, the sound no more than a tired sigh.

Had it been only less than a day since John had stood at her window and puzzled out more about her in those few minutes than many people did after months of acquaintance? Had she finally met her lover's brother, someone who represented a lost part of David that even he wouldn't admit, only to lose both of them?

She passed her hand over her eyes, rubbing away the sting that kept stubbornly reappearing.

If someone had told her a month ago that David would be playing secret agent for the Air Force, she would have checked their breath for booze. Today she was just terrified. And angry. She fostered the anger, feeling it give her the strength to push away despair.

She decided there on the spot that she would go to Colorado Springs, but not to sit meekly in protective custody. She would go to find out what was going on and how she could help.

Just as she was about to turn away from the window to return to her desk, she noticed movement in the parking lot and spotted a man skulking around her car. He wasn't touching it, just looking at it like it had a "For Sale" sign stuck to the window. She leaned closer to the window and realized as she watched that the FBI van was no longer in front of the building, and the faithful agent who'd been dogging her for days wasn't in his usual parking spot.

David was in custody of sorts, and the FBI must know that he was working with the Air Force. The APB on him must have been canceled. It made sense, but the thought left her feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. John had said something about the FBI helping out if she needed it. And now they were gone.

She walked quickly to her desk and called security. Fighting the urge to keep watching out the window, she flipped open her calendar and began the tedious process of canceling or rescheduling her appointments for the rest of the week. She had no idea how long it would take David to sort out his business, nor how long she would need to remain in Colorado.

She finished making the calls that she really needed to attend to personally and wrote up a list of the rest of the changes her assistant could make. At that point she was stuck. She could either start something new and risk getting interrupted or she could stop altogether. Julia stretched, stood up and wandered towards her window again. There was no one in sight down below.

"Ms. Gianni? The people from the Air Force you were expecting are here," her intercom blared from her desk.

Julia took a deep breath and strode purposefully to slap the intercom button. "Send them in." She pulled her purse out of a desk drawer and faced the door.

"I'm ready," she added softly to herself.

* * *

David tightened the canvas belt, then fumbled with the clips and zippers of the tactical vest. Ronon and some other soldiers were in the ready room with him, also changing into combat gear and putting on their own multi-pocketed and Kevlar-shielded vests. When David was dressed, he walked to the door of the ready room, but paused as he caught a reflection in the mirror of a half open locker. Was that really him?

David was wearing grey pants, a black T-shirt, black vest and boots that felt heavy and stiff on his feet. There were loops and clips on the vest where holsters for various weapons could attach, but David had no idea if they were planning on giving him any. He turned slightly, taking in his image. John had always drawn the attention of women when he wore his uniform home from the Academy. David had accused him of doing it deliberately, and John hadn't denied the accusation.

But David was taller and lighter than John, and despite a comfortable fit, the uniform looked loose on David. He looked lanky in it. David threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin, passing the mirror on by. It only served to remind him that he was very outside his experience and he was having enough trouble fighting down panic.

Ronon walked out at the same time and David followed him towards the room where his escort team was gathering. They entered just as Landry was nodding a dismissal to Dr. Keller. Landry looked unhappy. David caught her attention with a questioning glace as she passed him on her way out.

"Doctor? How is your research progressing?" He hoped he sounded casual, but he knew his need for some reassurance was desperate.

"We've made some progress, but not the kind we wanted."

"Which means?"

"It means that we know how hard our work is, now. And it's very hard. I can see that a cure is possible, but it's going to take time. Too long unless we get really lucky."

"Too long for John, you mean."

"I'm still betting on getting lucky," Keller said and David could tell that she was sincere in her hope. She squeezed his arm in reassurance, then left to return to her lucky research. David was finding it very hard to join in her optimism.

He wandered to a wall and propped his back up against it, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do. Until he was face to face with Perses/Kolohov, he had nothing to contribute to the operation, which may be prudent – as Perses suggested – but was damn frustrating.

Eventually the group was gathered and Agent Barrett, who had been put in charge of the mission, addressed the room.

"Perses has agreed to a set of acceptable conditions," Barrett began. "Our local agents are already scouting the location. We will have time to prepare a deployment strategy on the way there."

"We're not just beaming in?" a young soldier who stood close to Ronon piped up.

"The Daedalus's search pattern currently has it on the opposite hemisphere at the moment. The agreed upon meeting time allows us the luxury of mundane transportation methods. We'll be flying to New Jersey. We leave from Peterson in 30 minutes."

David almost smiled at that. They were taking him back home, almost.

"Once at the location, Mr. Sheppard will enter the warehouse alone. We will maintain constant radio contact, however. He is already equipped with a subcutaneous transmitter and both the Daedalus and the team on the ground will keep tabs on him."

Agent Barrett paused, looked hard at every face in the room before he went on.

"Our primary mission objective is to get Mr. Sheppard in and out safely, with the intent of gathering intel. Our secondary objective is to neutralize the Goa'uld Perses. Once Mr. Sheppard has completed primary objective, you are to take any opportunity that presents itself. Final orders will be given at our destination. Our ride's waiting upstairs," Barrett finished, jabbing a finger at the ceiling and the ground level far above them.

There were murmurs of agreement, and the group began to mill towards the door. David was hanging back, hoping that Ronon would wait for him when Barrett pulled him slightly to the side.

"Mr. Sheppard, our secondary objective orders apply to you as well. In fact, you are the most likely to have a shot at Perses and will be in the best position to relay opportunity." Barrett pressed a vial into his hands, about the size of a test tube and filled with a watery liquid. David held it up curiously to swirl the contents.

"In addition to the codes we'll teach you to request extraction, you are to keep this within reach at all times. It's a neurotoxin that will immediately kill the goa'uld within Kolohov."

David immediately clutched the vial much more tightly. "This is a deadly poison?"

"It only affects a goa'uld symbiote. It's completely harmless to humans. The vial is sugar glass. Just smash it to the ground and the toxin will be released. However, I can't impress upon you the importance of keeping this out of the hands of Perses intact. We have intelligence that the Trust has found an antidote to the poison originally developed by the Tok'ra. This –" Barrett pointed to the vial in David's hand, " – is our newest formula and our best chance at taking out Perses. Not to mention the rest of the Trust when we come across them."

"When am I to use this?" David wondered, tugging up a pocket flap and dropping the vial into it. Barrett looked him over as Landry had done.

"Use it in self defense, of course. But if you have the opportunity, you are to attempt a kill before you leave the building. We won't get another shot at Perses. He's too good. He'll just take another host once your conversation is over, and we'll be starting all over again."

David fidgeted and tried to look confident. "I understand."

"Good man."

The room had nearly cleared out and Ronon was standing at the door, watching him.

"Ready, Dave?" Ronon rumbled as David walked slowly past, following Barrett.

"No."

"You will be." Ronon laughed and slapped David on the back, sending him forward a stumbling step or two.

"I really hope you're right," David whispered to himself.


	19. Chapter 19

Julia sat in the back seat of the black, government SUV glancing awkwardly at the woman in the seat next to her who had called herself as Teyla. Their introductions had been perfunctory, and they had left immediately for the military airplane that was waiting for them at Chicago Midway.

Agnet Daylon was a handsome younger man, with light brown skin and curly copper hair. He looked like all the FBI agents she'd spoken to since David's troubles had begun, down to the generic expensive suit. And he had that same patronizing politeness that drove her insane. Despite her promise to David, she wouldn't have been able to force herself into the car if it hadn't been for Teyla.

Teyla was completely different: warm and genuine while at the same time radiating an aura of strength that had an almost scary edge to it. Julia was reminded of the feeling of danger around John and suspected the source was the same – deadly skill lurking underneath physical confidence and unimaginable experiences.

"You're a friend of David's?" Julia asked, the silence finally unnerving her. Teyla had been quite friendly but seemed uncertain about how to interact. She smiled at the question with something like relief.

"Yes, I am honored to call him so. We have only met once before – last year when David came to help after John was injured. But we got acquainted during that visit."

"Ah, so you're a friend of John's. You have come a long way to be here, then. You're stationed overseas, too, aren't you?"

"I am a long way from home, yes. But those of us who have made the trip are very worried about John. I still am."

"You and John are close?"

Teyla's smile grew wistful, "He is a very special friend. My son and I both owe him our very lives. My son, Torren John, bears his name in honor of that debt and many others."

Julia found herself wide-eyed with fascination. She was dying to ask more about this woman and her son's relationship with John, but felt it might be considered impolite. "Where is your son, now?"

"He remains at home with his father."

Aha. So John wasn't the boy's father, but that opened a lot of other questions about how exactly John had saved this woman's life. The more she learned about David's brother, the more mysterious he seemed to become. Teyla seemed a bit sad at the thought of her son and asked her next question, clearly out of a desire to change the topic.

"And you and David are close?"

"Yes. I found a soul-mate in David. He's passionate and brilliant, but he's strong. He isn't threatened by strong women like so many men in my profession are. He puts up with me and I adore him for that."

"It was clear from David's concern that he has deep feelings for you as well. Do you plan to form a family some day?"

Julia laughed nervously, surprised at how uncomfortable the honest question felt. "Our works satisfies us both and keeps us both very busy."

"I see." Teyla's look turned suddenly very curious. "John rarely speaks of his family and when David was with us last year, he was understandably distracted by concern for John's welfare. Do you know what the burden is that lies between John and his brother? You do not have to answer if you feel it inappropriate to do so. John would not approve of my asking," she added the last with a mischievous grin.

"But you're curious," Julia stated, also grinning. "I admit to the same curiosity. But I can only tell you what I've pieced together from what little David has said. My own guess is that the burden between the Sheppard brothers is most probably their father. Patrick Sheppard was an incredibly opinionated man. John didn't go along with his father's plan for his life and was strong enough to pursue his own plans. Patrick never forgave him for that."

"An inflexible father can create great conflict within a son. I have seen it among my own people. And David?" Teyla asked, looking immensely satisfied by the insight into her friend.

"David got caught in the middle. When John finally got fed up and broke all ties, I think David was really hurt. He blamed John for leaving, but I've always wondered what Patrick said or did that pushed John away so completely. David admits they had some kind of awful fight before John shipped overseas and stopped coming home."

"When I first met John, he was very alone in the universe. He may have broken the ties to his family, but knowing him, I am certain that he did not do so lightly. He is a loyal man. He makes friends easily and takes the responsibility of friendship seriously. I cannot imagine that he would leave his family without great anguish."

"David takes friendship seriously, too. But in his case, that trait makes him cautious. He doesn't offer his friendship lightly. When David said a friend was coming to escort me to Colorado, I wondered how he could possibly know someone from the Air Force well enough to call them a friend already. You must have made an impression."

Teyla looked thoughtful. "I think David understands that those of us who consider John family recognize his importance to John, even if John doesn't see it yet himself."

"I feel the same way about David. He needs John, he just won't take John on his own terms yet. He's still got a part of his father in him that is constantly trying to push John into his own image. Maybe he'll eventually let that go."

"I hope they have that chance," Teyla replied softly, then looked quickly away.

Julia was jolted out of the easy camaraderie she'd fallen into. The deep concern in Teyla's body language brought all of Julia's fears back to the surface, and the anger with it. But now she saw in Teyla something she hadn't seen until their chat: Teyla was a true insider, not some random bodyguard like Agent Daylon who sat in the front seat with the driver looking bored. Perhaps Julia wouldn't need to go all the way to Colorado to find out what was going on after all.

She shifted on the seat, turning her body and her full attention on Teyla.

"I need to know, Teyla: How great a danger is David in? Because if you tell me he's not coming back from this meeting with this Mob informant, then I swear I will find a way to stop him."

"Our people will do everything within our power – which is considerable – to protect David. I have every confidence that he will return safely."

"It's just that I know David. He can get intractable when he's backed into a corner. He's got a blind spot a mile wide when it comes to John, with a streak of pride to go with it. I hate the thought that he's being manipulated into something he's unsuited for."

Teyla's voice took on a bit of sharpness, "David seemed completely in control of his motives when he accepted the mission. He is doing no less than any one of us would do for John. It is John I am concerned for."

"Of course you are," Julia backed down with effort, seeing the fire and distress on Teyla's face. Julia was finding it hard to keep perspective. These people had such devotion for John, it seemed, but it was David she was in love with. Could she trust their motives? "Of course you are concerned about John. I just want to make sure that someone is watching out for David, too."

Teyla's expression was fierce, but there was finally a hint of amusement in the quirk of her lips. "David is family," she stated firmly. "We are watching out for him. Ronon is with him on the mission."

"Ronon is the man who came to Patrick's wake?"

"Yes."

Julia found that she did feel better knowing John's friend was with David. If nothing else, keeping David alive was their best chance at helping John, she decided. Perhaps he would be safe even if their motives weren't pure.

They rode on in silence and the car was soon bumping through the security checkpoints at the airport towards a hangar Julia had never been near. Teyla had turned pensive again, and Julia could tell that she was worrying about John. Something else was going on, Julia decided. Teyla's concern seemed contradictory to her confidence in the success of David's mission.

"Something's wrong," Daylon blurted out suddenly.

Julia snapped out of speculation as Agent Daylon squirmed in his seat in front of her to pull out his gun. Teyla slid to the edge of her own seat and began peering out of the window. They were just pulling past the hangar towards an unmarked, plain white business jet. A Learjet 35, by the looks of it. Julia couldn't remember its military designation.

"What is it?" Teyla asked and Daylon just shook his head.

"No crew, no pilot. This plane is supposed to be ready for takeoff and there's nobody around."

"Perhaps we have the wrong place?"

Daylon and the driver exchanged a shrug when a flash of light brought spots to Julia's eyes even through the tinted windows. She didn't have time to wonder about it. The flash was immediately followed by a hollow boom that shook the car. She slapped her hands to her ears.

The driver slammed on the brakes and Julia lurched forward against the front seat. She felt Teyla's hands on her head and she was shoved down as well. The windows on Teyla and the driver's side shattered and sprinkled the car with shiny beads of glass. When Teyla finally released the pressure on Julia's head, she sat up dazedly to see black smoke and flames billowing from the Jet's port engine.

Lights were flashing in the hangar and people were starting to rush over to the scene. Many from the hangar were wearing Air Force BDUs. Daylon shoved open his door and stepped out. He stared for a moment at the plane.

"Stay here, I'll go check it out," he snapped, and then he was gone, jogging towards the hangar and an officer who had begun shouting soldiers towards fire fighting equipment. Teyla and Julia both opened their own doors and stood watching the activity. Teyla looked like she was analyzing the situation and Julia was grateful for her presence. Julia just felt stunned.

Daylon returned almost immediately to bend heads with Teyla and the driver. Annoyed, Julia slammed her door and ran around the truck to join them. Teyla immediately stepped aside to include Julia in the conversation, and again Julia was impressed.

"The airplane was being serviced," Teyla told her, catching her up. "The Major in charge of the craft believes the explosion is merely accidental, but our flight has been delayed until another craft can be brought in from another base." Her expression clearly conveyed that she did not agree with the Major's assessment.

"Which essentially means we're stuck here," Daylon added. He looked anxious. "We take her to a local safe house. We put her on ice."

"No. We go to Colorado Springs," Julia snapped back. She hated it when people talked about her as if she wasn't there. "That's where David will return to. That's where I'll be when he does."

"With respect, ma'am, if these people can infiltrate an Air Force hangar and blow up this plane, they can blow up the next one. We can't trust the Air Force until an investigation is completed."

"Then we find other transportation."

"Barrett put me in charge of the operation. It's my call. I'm calling headquarters to arrange for a safe house."

Daylon tugged out his cell phone. Julia watched him for all of two seconds, then snatched the phone out of his hand. He looked at her in total shock.

"I'm going to Peterson Air Force base in Colorado Springs. I am in custody voluntarily and can walk away at any time. You can protect me on my way to Colorado, or you can walk away, too."

Teyla stepped between them and raised her hands placatingly, but Julia could swear her expression was amused. "Agent Daylon, I for one am also quite eager to return to Cheyenne Mountain. If we cannot trust the Air Force, which I can't quite bring myself not to do, then perhaps there is another way. The Daedalus –."

"Is classified," Daylon snapped, looking nervously at Julia who just raised her eyebrow at him.

"Then do you not have citizen transportation that anyone may use?" Teyla waved around her at the busy airport full of planes. Daylon just clenched his jaw and glared.

"I can do better than a commercial flight," Julia said confidently. She handed the phone back to Daylon. "We'll take my jet."

"Your jet?" Daylon repeated dully.

"Yes. Hangar 234. Here at Midway, even. I just need to call my pilot and the crew to get it prepped for flight."

"You have your own pilot?"

Julia smirked. There were advantages to the capitalist life that she was sure most government employees had never even dreamed of.

"I own the jet, and contract with a service to provide maintenance, crew and pilots."

"I don't know about some random guy piloting, background unknown."

"All pilots are screened by the service, but in any case, I'll request my usual man. He's flown me around for years, and I trust him."

Daylon still looked ready to object, but Teyla clapped her hands together and said in a tone of approval, "That sounds perfect. Julia, please contact your pilot. We will go to your hangar immediately and wait for departure there."

Julia caught Teyla's glance at the still smoking airplane and the debris flung for yards around their vehicle. If they had been in flight when the engine went up…

"I'll call on the way," Julia answered firmly and turned to crawl back into the car. Teyla was right behind her. Daylon glared for another moment longer, then with a sigh, he shrugged at the driver.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered as he walked past Teyla's broken window, just loud enough for Julia to hear.

"I know what I'm doing," Julia replied firmly, warmed by Teyla's pleased nod of approval.

Damn, she hoped so.


	20. Chapter 20

John rolled his head against the wall and let his arms drop for a moment to rest. The patterned golden surface was cool against his cheek and he sighed at the relief. He was so hot. His shirt had dried to a tacky warmth and John wished he could roll up the sleeves again to shed some of the extra body heat that way. But his hands were still tied together and it wouldn't help much anyway.

"At least it's a dry heat," he muttered sarcastically to himself. It was strange to feel so hot without sweating.

With a heave and groan of protest, he raised his arms and began to poke again at the ring control panel. The infected arm screamed with every little motion, and John had to grit his teeth to keep holding it up.

He'd lost track of the number of variations he'd tried, but he knew the pattern. If he kept tapping in combination after combination in the right pattern, he'd get the code. It wasn't optimism. It was math. Rodney would be so proud.

With each wrong code, the panel would blink red with three quick pulses, then return to the menu. John continued, sagging even more against the wall, his whole existence reduced to a pattern of its own: tap-tap-tap-tap, blink blink blink; tap-tap-tap-tap, blink blink blink; tap-tap-tap-tap…

John blinked, suddenly pulled out his reverie. He took a sharp breath, held it and pushed his shoulder away from the wall and looked at the panel harder.

"That's it," he breathed.

For a moment he just stared at the panel, hardly believing his luck. He had access; he could scan for a ring terminal and ring out. John shot a look at the closed door and felt his heart begin to pound with the frantic beat of hope. Ok. Next step was to lock the door, run the scan and get the hell out of here.

He jogged around the room, keeping his fingers on the wall to steady himself. When he reached the door, he sent the fingers along the frame, looking for a panel, lock, anything to buy him long enough to escape. There was nothing on the near side so he crossed to the other, still touching as he went, exploring every crack and embellishment. Even then, he almost missed the small panel concealed within the golden walls.

John traced the outline of the panel, pressed on each corner. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath again until the cover slid to the side, revealing a simple set of glowing control crystals.

"Yes!"

He was peering inside the box when a voice filtered through the door, sounding very close.

"Larsen wants us to wake him. He's played sleeping beauty for long enough," the voice said.

John scanned the crystals, desperately looking for the one he needed to pull. He reached for the top one, deciding to try anything. The crystal slid out and went dim, but the rest of the panel remained cheerfully lit.

"Get the door. I'll take the stick in case he's already up," the voice spoke again.

"Shit!" John gasped. He grabbed for another crystal, shoved it into the other empty slot. He was so close. He just needed another minute. Another few seconds.

The door slid open.

* * *

David stood at the end of the alley, looking into the dim, brick and concrete shadows with something like terror. No, not _like_ terror. It _was_ terror: absolute and refined into the sharpest steel that was cutting into his chest with a lung gasping stab. Ronon and Agent Barrett stood on either side of him. They were looking at the rooftops and neighboring streets, watching carefully as the team that had flown here with David from the SGC moved stealthily into their positions around the warehouse where Perses was waiting.

The small beam of afternoon sunlight that slipped between the buildings was warm against David's black vest, but the chill of fear felt cold all the way to his bones. Even the sun-warmed concrete had a sour scent that triggered thoughts of decay. Or maybe that was the dumpster shoved carelessly beside the curb they were standing on. At long last, he pulled his gaze out of the alley to realize that Ronon was studying him carefully.

"Are you afraid?" Ronon asked. The blunt question startled David. He thought he probably should lie and offer some brave statement of confidence, but all that came out was a very soft.

"Yes."

It must have been the right answer because Ronon nodded approvingly. "Good. Fear is not your enemy. It will sharpen your senses, make you move faster. Use your fear, stay in control of it."

"Ok." David couldn't think of anything else to say in response to the odd advice, so he just turned to Agent Barrett, "Should I go?"

Barrett glanced at his watch, looked one more time at the roof opposite the door David would be entering and shrugged.

"We're in position. Ready when you are, Mr. Sheppard."

David clutched the vial of symbiote poison tightly inside his pants pocket where he'd moved it for easy access, squared his shoulders and took one step into the alley. Half remembered phrases about valleys and shadows and death flashed through his mind and he began to pant as the terror shot into panic. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his hand suddenly began to slip against vial in his pocket.

"Damn," he whispered, overwhelmed, unable to take a second step.

"Dave?" Ronon asked from behind his right shoulder. _Stay in control of your fear._

"Just give me a second," David snapped, angry at himself. Only John still called him _Dave_, no matter how many times he asked him not to. After his visit to Atlantis last year, David finally realized that it was John's way of calling David's bluff. It was John's way of reminding David that he knew who David really was and wasn't fooled by the trappings of formality that David held so dear. It was also John's way of annoying the hell out of David.

If John were here now, would he be proud of him? Or would he be laughing his ass off and shooting him with a Zat to keep him out of harm's way again?

David took a deep breath and rubbed his hands on his pants. And then he took another step. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life – harder than going to Atlantis last year, harder than burying his father. But John's grinning face kept appearing in his imagination and he took a third step, and then he was walking briskly towards the door.

He was doing this for John. Because John would do it for him. John already had.

* * *

Ronon watched Dave pause at the door set into the brick wall of the alley, then slip inside. He had an ache in his gut that had nothing to do with the mission unfolding around him. It was a gnawing sense of time slipping away from him – time slipping away from his brave friend and colleague trapped somewhere with the enemy.

But time wasn't something he could fight. And so he waited on Dave to complete his meeting where talking and words only wasted more of the time that was his true enemy.

"Sheppard's inside, all teams stay alert." Barrett spoke into his walkie talkie. "We still got ears on what's going on inside there?"

There was a pause that seemed a little too long to Ronon and he leaned closer to Barrett with a frown.

"Negative," came the answer. "We've got no radio contact. We've lost Sheppard's broadcast! The signal is being jammed. We're not even picking up his subcutaneous transmitter."

"Damn!" Barrett cursed, but that was all Ronon heard of the Agent's next orders because he was leaping down the alley, his gun drawn and his lips curled into a sneer. He slammed into the metal door with the force of a charging buffalo, but found himself flung backwards across the alley to smash into the brick behind him.

He slid to his knees, stunned for only a moment, and then approached the door more cautiously. He reached for the handle then jerked his hand back as the wall crackled with a golden glow that shimmered nearly the full length of the building.

Ronon glared at the door, panting in disbelief. A chatter of information bored into his consciousness, coming in constant waves of sound over the radio in his ear.

"Barrett, it's a force field. Perses has the whole building surrounded. Nobody's getting in there!"

"Damn it! Get the SGC. Tell them we need Daedalus backup. See if they have anything up there that can penetrate the shield to get Sheppard out of there."

Ronon slammed his fists against the door.


	21. Chapter 21

Rodney bent over the scanner controls on the bridge of the Daedalus, trying to salvage something of his search pattern. Not that he was complaining exactly. The two other technicians next to him were working furiously to try to penetrate the shielding that the goa'uld had set up around David Sheppard. It was all Rodney could do to keep from shoving them aside to work on the problem himself.

The fact that he WAS working on the problem, alongside his other work and in addition to what the technicians were trying, was a fact that Caldwell didn't need to know at the moment.

The frantic call from the team in New Jersey had pulled the Daedalus out of its position from somewhere over Australia. Rodney brought up the sensor scans they'd been taking as they'd abandoned their slow crawl to leap a hemisphere away. Maybe he'd be able to spot something during the quick fly-around that would lead them to their next starting place at least.

"Status report," bellowed Caldwell from his command chair. There was enough going on that the Colonel had returned to the bridge to attend personally.

"Still nothing, sir. The building is shielded from all EMR going in or out. We can't see or hear anything down there."

"We are getting a ring platform ping, though," another voice called from a different panel. Rodney found himself looking up, curious by the information.

"Someone's trying to ring on board?" Caldwell asked.

"No, sir. I mean that there's a platform in that warehouse. The rings automatically connect to each other through subspace when they're active and idle."

"Can we use the rings to get a team down there?" Rodney shouted, undercutting Caldwell who was trying to ask the same question. Rodney had never been so glad that the Daedalus was equipped with what he considered out of date Goa'uld technology.

"Negative. I mean, we could, except that the platform is requesting authentication."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning anyone who goes down there without the authentication will get scrambled and rematerialize as a pile of goo."

"Oh." Rodney sighed in disappointment.

"Start working on breaking that authentication code. Get the math boys on it," Caldwell ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Rodney went back to work on his scanners, compartmentalizing another part of his brain to think about breaking Goa'uld codes. He set a corner of his screen to keep tabs on the 'math boys' work as well. Caldwell didn't like him butting into the routine of his ship but Rodney wouldn't hesitate to offer a solution – once he had one.

The scanning report he'd been running blinked in readiness and Rodney settled in to sift through the random squeaks and hisses of normal space noise, any of which might point to interference caused by a cloaked ship. That was the theory anyway. They certainly weren't going to get an engraved electronic invitation to point out the ship's location.

Several minutes went by and the bridge of the massive ship felt almost hushed as tension seeped into every corner and bulkhead. Only the rustle of uniforms and an occasional low murmur to a colleague broke the thick stillness.

"Any word from the ground?" Caldwell sounded like a man talking to hear himself talk.

"Just negative, sir. They can't get through the shield down there either. We now have standing orders to beam David Sheppard on board the instant we get a lock on him."

"Acknowledge those orders."

"Yes, sir."

Rodney sighed, tabbed to the next page of sensor data, trying hard not to worry about David. About John. About Teyla who was probably in the air by now with David's girlfriend. Rodney had given Teyla a subspace radio before she left, and she'd been keeping him in the loop on her escort duty. They'd kept their conversations low key. Rodney didn't think that the NID agent she was with would approve of using such classified equipment around this Julia person before they'd accosted her with several days of non-disclosure agreements.

The window in the corner of his screen blinked, drawing his eye to it. They must be using the Daedalus rings to try to coax something out of the platform, he thought. That's not how he'd do it. Maybe he should go help them out after all. He idly toggled the window larger.

And then he stood up with a leap that flung his chair out from behind him with a huge clatter of metal against metal. Heads turned his way. He pounced at the keyboard again, bringing up yet one more screen of data.

"Colonel! I have something!" Rodney shouted, not caring that he wasn't following protocol, or that he was only here today as a guest or that he was already running towards the pilot's console.

"What? What have you got?" Caldwell shouted back, caught up in the mania.

"An engraved invitation," said Rodney.

* * *

John didn't think, he reacted.

When the door slid open, he lunged around the frame from where he'd been messing with the crystals and struck out at the first thing he saw, which happened to be the face of thug number two who had dragged him around the ship the last time. The man stumbled backwards and flailed his arms around to keep his balance after John's fist shattered his nose. The arms happened to be holding the long, deceptively simple looking fire stick.

John snatched for the stick, yanked hard and managed to wrestle it out of the guard's hands before the staggering man got his feet back under him. John twirled the stick like a baton between his tied hands and flipped it into ready position. He shoved the end into the guard's belly.

The man screamed, his body convulsed and his eyes glowed with the charge. When John pulled back on the stick, the man fell backwards into his companion, driving them both to the ground in a heap. There were shouts from the cockpit of the cargo ship, but John just took a single quick step out of the ring room, slapped the control that would close the door again and stepped back inside.

He was gulping for air as he waited for the door to slide completely shut. Once it was closed, he shoved the stick, electrode first, into the open control panel. Sparks flew, crystals charred and exploded, and the whole panel finally went dark. John watched for a moment to make certain it remained disabled, then forced himself back towards the ring controls, dragging the stick along with him.

He was shaking violently from the exertion, but it was the good kind of shakes – the kind you got when you'd asked your body to pull out all the stops for you, and it had. He would regret it in the morning – his shredded hand was already talking to him – but he still had something left for the rest of it.

Muffled pounding came from the door as John reached the controls and began the scan for a platform to ring to. He ignored the noise, wiped a trickle of blood off his wrist that had oozed out from under the gauze. He looked at the screen again. Yes! The scan had found a ring platform. On the ground he assumed, but he had no idea where geographically it might be.

For a second John paused. This was a stolen Trust ship. Any ring platforms on the ground were most likely installed by the Trust. He could be escaping Larsen only to find himself in even worse hands. The pounding continued. Larsen's furious screams rose above the thumps.

John punched the command to connect the platforms and begin the transport. He'd take his chances.

There was a grinding screech, and John's gaze was jerked towards the door. They were coaxing it open somehow. It wasn't open far enough to let anyone through, though. He punched the next command and a dull thrumming pulsed through his feet from the rings embedded into the floor.

A spattering of bullets sparked along the wall to his left and John ducked. Ok, the door wasn't open enough to get a person in, but apparently someone had managed to shove a P-90 through the crack. Great.

The control panel blinked readiness, then flashed a warning.

"Authentication? What the hell does that mean?" John muttered to himself out loud.

Another round of bullets zinged around the room and he felt the whiz of a ricochet breeze past his middle. He jerked and shuddered a little at the sight of two fresh new holes in the loose folds of his shirt. He patted his middle briefly, just to make sure there weren't two new holes in him.

"Screw authentication. I'm out of here."

John punched the override button and pushed off the wall towards the ring. He was driven back only a moment later by a hailstorm of bullets flying through the room. The door jerked open another inch. John tried to reach the rings one more time and was again driven back by gunfire.

The humming coming from the floor was growing in intensity, and the pitch was changing from a low vibration to a high frequency grinding. John looked at the door, looked at the platform, then hefted the fire stick and flung it with a desperate heave. It clattered with a clang and a brief spark against the golden doors. He accomplished no more than to make the guy with his arm sticking into the room pull it out for an instant, but it was enough.

John lunged for the rings and made a kind of baseball slide into the center just as the grinding reached its peak and the hovering transporter rings rose up out of the floor around him. He looked at the door between the glowing slats and caught Larsen's expression just before he had to duck a final volley of bullets that were unleashed into the room. Larsen looked pissed.

Then the flash of light engulfed him and he felt himself being split into cool energy. He didn't know where he'd come out. He didn't know who would be there when he did. But he knew it had to be better than here. Probably better than here. He was pretty sure, anyway. Fifty percent sure at least.

Yeah, right. He was scared to death.

* * *

"Bring her around to five-six mark oh-seven-two, quarter impulse, and step on it!" Rodney bellowed the command into the face of the Daedalus pilot who froze for a moment in alarm, then shot a look at Caldwell in a silent plea for help.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Caldwell demanded.

"Just do it first, then listen next."

Caldwell shrugged and nodded an OK to the pilot. Once Rodney was convinced that they were indeed moving, he started towards the bridge's exit.

"Someone is about to ring down to the platform where David Sheppard is. We've got to intercept the transmission," he said as he walked.

"Ring from where?"

"From the cargo ship."

"Doctor, are you saying you've found the cargo ship?"

"Yes."

Rodney poked a button on the navigation console as he passed and the navigator blinked in surprise as a new set of data came up.

"The rings gave it away. Lock onto those coordinates and fire to disable as soon as the transport is complete."

"Doctor, would it just be easier if you had command of the ship?" Caldwell didn't sound very amused by his own joke, but Rodney didn't care.

"He's right sir, we've got a faint signal," the navigator confirmed suddenly, rescuing Rodney from further rebuke. "We can get a lock as long as they don't move too quickly. It's like trying to see a fly out of the corner of your eye."

"Lock weapons on target and stand by. Doctor, who exactly is it that we're trying to intercept?"

"We have no idea who we'll catch, of course. But does it matter? They're from the ship. They can tell us where Sheppard is. Just don't destroy the cargo ship before we find out."

"Understood Doctor. Let's go fishing. Major Marks -."

Rodney reached the exit, paused and turned back with one last bellow, cutting Caldwell off and not even realizing he was doing so, "Send some security to the ring room!"

"- send a security team to the ring platform," Caldwell finished in exasperation.

Rodney jogged through the hallways, trying hard not to let his hopes get too high. He'd seen the handshake between the cargo ship and the platform on the ground. He knew that the authentication code hadn't been sent, at least not yet. Whoever was about to ring down there was destined to become a puddle of goo, to use the technician's technical term. So who would be so desperate that they'd override the code and ring in anyway? Rodney had some ideas, and they all ended with Sheppard.

A couple of heavily armed soldiers pushed past him and he let them run ahead, just in case, though. The ring platform on the Daedalus was in a junction of corridors that led off in three different directions and there was a pair of soldiers, all armed and heavily geared, standing solidly in each. Another quartet of men was surrounding the platform itself, crouched down on knees with weapons aimed high on their shoulders. Caldwell clearly wasn't taking any chances.

Rodney stayed behind the men in his corridor and tapped his radio, "Are we in position?"

"Almost."

"That's not good enough!" Rodney snapped. "If -."

"Security, stand by. We have ring activation confirmed," the voice who'd answered his original question interrupted. "The warehouse platform is responding."

"Move! Get the Daedalus into that beam, now!" Rodney shouted, turning the heads of the security team.

"Increasing speed to half impulse. I can see the transmission." This time Rodney recognized the voice as Daedalus' pilot.

"Are we there?" Rodney asked after another second that felt like years. A grinding moan from the floor of the junction answered his question and Rodney craned his neck to try to see around the men standing in front of him. He saw the uppermost rings rise nearly to the ceiling and then was jolted sideways into the wall when the whole ship lurched unexpectedly. The lights flickered, and the floors vibrated with a rumble of sound.

"What was that?" someone yelled. Rodney could hear fear in the voice, but he was immediately distracted by the rings again. He squinted when the blinding flash of the transporter washed the room with white light. The rings sank back into the floor, and the grinding vibrations faded.

The noise of the ring platform was immediately replaced by the creak of gear and weapons leaning towards whatever, or whoever had arrived. There was a heartbeat of tension during which more muffled booms filtered down to them from somewhere beyond the outer hull, and then, everyone relaxed at once. The noise of abrupt chatter drowned out the murmur of someone speaking confirmation codes.

"Who is it? Who did we get?"

Rodney danced with the security guards they both tried to get out of each others' way until Rodney put his arms out and shoved past into the ring corridor. He still couldn't see. Another cluster of soldiers was standing inside the ring platform itself, looking down at the floor.

One soldier finally holstered his gun and reached down with outstretched hand towards someone on the floor. The soldier heaved, a dark shock of hair appeared over the soldier's shoulder. Rodney felt his breath hitch in happiness.

"Sheppard!"

John looked around until Rodney caught his attention by waving both hands in the air. Rodney almost cheered when John broke into a weary grin. He lifted his chin in greeting and the look of relief on his face was almost frightening to Rodney who wasn't used to seeing his friend show fear, or even the sudden absence of it.

"Hey, Rodney," John said, his voice soft and hoarse with that relief. "Nice catch."


	22. Chapter 22

David walked through the metal door and closed it softly behind him. The warehouse that stretched out before him was vast and empty except for a strange, round platform in the South corner to his right. Golden sunlight streamed in from a high row of windows, catching motes of dust as it speared the opposite wall with sharp beams. David tugged at the heavy vest he was wearing, shifting its weight into a more comfortable position on his shoulders.

"Agent Barrett, I'm in. No one around so far," David whispered. He didn't expect Barrett to respond, but he'd been told they would be listening in.

Feeling a bit braver at the lack of any guns being shoved at his face or bombs exploding around him, he wandered further into the musty, empty room. It smelled as if someone had been burning Vaseline in here. Why rent a large space like this and leave it empty, he wondered. He walked on, growing a little annoyed. Why pick this place for a meeting? If Perses had put him through all this torment and worry to simply not show, David would personally hunt him and… well, turn him over to the authorities, he decided, still not quite sure if he would be able to kill the man.

He rubbed his pants nervously, feeling the vial of neurotoxin press against his leg.

He had crossed nearly halfway through the room when a voice to his right called out his name. David spun towards the sound and caught a glimpse of a faint shimmer as Perses and a large, thickset man wearing a black turtleneck appeared out of thin air. David had no idea how they'd arrived, but he'd been around John just enough to consider the trick not all that unusual.

"I'm impressed," Perses said when he'd drawn close enough to extend his hand in greeting. David took it warily, pleasing Perses even further. "I rather assumed your SGC friends would either talk you out of this ridiculous proposal of mine or attempt some ill advised aggression."

"I'm here," David snapped, trying to sound impatient rather than frightened. "Tell me what you know about John."

"Ah, yes. Your resourceful brother with the knack of disrupting Trust plans. I do admit, I have developed a certain respect for him. A worthy adversary is always deserving of respect, don't you agree?"

"Just tell me what you know!"

"Very well. He is in the custody of Nathan Larsen who was just clever enough to steal a cargo ship from me in the hopes of gaining power for himself. Quite embarrassing. I spoke to your brother a few hours ago from that cargo ship which Nathan no doubt has hovering over the East Coast."

David felt a small surge of triumph and hoped that Barrett was listening closely. They could send the Daedalus to search.

"John is on the ship? He's alright?"

"He is on the ship. He is far from alright."

"What does that mean?"

"Surely you are aware of the infection he is suffering from?"

"I am aware."

"Then you are aware that Colonel Sheppard has precious few hours left to enjoy the pleasure of this existence?"

"I am aware," David managed to choke out. "What do you want from me? Why am I here?"

"I wish to make you an offer."

David bit back a sharp retort, growing impatient with Perses' ornately annoying inability to get to the point. He'd had clients who played this game with him. As hard as it was, he'd learned over the years that the best way to get what you wanted was to simply play along until an opportunity to flip the tables presented itself.

"What offer?"

"You. I want you."

"To do what? I've already risked my life to come here."

"Which makes me all the more eager for you to accept. The Trust is not just some simpleton group of thieves that blunder around the planet hoping to – what is the term? – _score a hit_ every now and then. We have much bigger and more important plans. Those of us who took as hosts the members of your business elite learned something very interesting about power and patience."

"Power and patience," David repeated sarcastically. The speech was getting old.

"Yes. Power is held by those who control the resources, and patience leads to that control."

"Lovely sentiment. Tell me, when you were plotting the takeover of my company, were you after its resources? Or were you just after the power?"

"You have demonstrated both patience and cunning in your struggles to protect your company. Sadly, since the DaeNaq project failed, your company will fail along with it, but you –" Perses took a step closer to look David keenly in the eye, "- you have great potential. Once PSI no longer exists, you'll have time on your hands that The Trust could put to good use."

David was even more shocked than when Perses had first requested a meeting. In all the stress and excitement over aliens and global spy rings, David had simply forgotten that he was also being investigated for fraud and that PSI was teetering on the brink of financial disaster. He felt his face flush with anger.

"You want me to work with you? With the people who took my company away from me? The people who threatened my life and _killed_ my brother? Are you insane? Do you think me a complete fool?"

The vial of symbiote toxin suddenly felt hot against his thigh and he found his hand drifting to his pocket. Barrett had told him to take the shot when he had it. He could just reach into the pocket, throw the vial down…

"If I thought you were a fool, I would not make you this offer. Just because the DaeNaq project failed does not mean we intend to abandon our goals. As I said, we are patient. You have a great deal of knowledge about the energy market in the capitalist nations of North America and Europe. Nathan Larsen's buffoonery has proven to us that we desperately need someone with that knowledge and experience."

Perses shook his head and went on with an air of conspiracy, "Dictatorships and monopolies are _so_ much easier to infiltrate." He chuckled.

David just glared. He found himself clenching his fists which felt clammy and slick. His hand slipped into the pocket as if of its own accord. When Perses stopped laughing, he patted David in a fatherly kind of way. David jerked his arm away from the touch.

"You judge us too harshly, David. In the end, we do have the best interests of your people at heart. Your SGC hoards the technology it has stolen from us. We wish to offer it to your whole world."

"At what cost?" David snarled. Perses only nodded, ruefully.

"Sometimes the sacrifices are difficult," he admitted. "But we are not without heart. We do not offer admittance into The Trust lightly. And we do not expect participation without reward. You will be well compensated."

"There's nothing you have that I want."

Perses went on as if David hadn't spoken, "You will have the opportunities to control far more than you ever dreamed of. PSI will seem a mere village compared to the kingdom you could build with our help."

"Stop! I refuse. I'm not interested. I came, I listened, I'm leaving."

David clutched the vial in his pocket tightly and spun on his heel, turning his back on Perses. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt his hands shaking. He took a step back towards the door, pulled the vial a bit further towards the edge of the pocket.

"You could save your brother's life," Perses said simply.

David stopped, turned his head back, but remained otherwise frozen. "What?"

"Just what I said. We are not without heart."

David turned slowly around to find Perses holding up a vial very much like the one in David's pocket. The fluid within was cloudy, and slightly rose colored. Perses waved it back and forth a little, as if taunting him.

"What is that?"

"Antidote. It's an antibiotic specifically designed to counter the mutated bacteria that is currently destroying Colonel Sheppard."

David felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. "I…I don't believe you."

"Come now. It would be quite unwise to develop a life threatening pathogen without concurrently maintaining a way to defeat it, don't you think? Even the most effective weapons are sometimes…misused."

"You're saying that if I join the Trust and work with you to do whatever it is you're trying to do, you'll give me the antidote?"

"That would only be the beginning of the rewards you would receive under our employment, but yes. That is what I'm saying."

For a long moment, David could only stare at the vial, hope warring with mistrust and disgust.

"And if I don't?" he rasped. Perses' expression turned hard for the first time during their conversation.

"If you don't, you will be brought before the SEC for fraud charges, your company will be auctioned off on the open market, you will lose everything you have worked for your entire life. You will find yourself penniless and…friendless."

"And John?"

Perses looked at the pink liquid in his hand, then put the vial back into the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Without the antidote, your brother will die."


	23. Chapter 23

The corridor began to clear as the security team wandered away in twos and threes. Before long, it was only Rodney and Major Marks standing around a very disheveled looking Sheppard. Rodney frowned at his friend as he and Marks continued talking, exchanging a quick spat of intel. The fact that John was on his feet at all had given Rodney a momentary jolt of hope that maybe the infection wasn't affecting John as much as they'd feared.

But a continued study erased the optimism with alarming surety. John's face looked flushed and clammy, his hair was spiky and dull. He had a deep bruise over his right temple that was old enough to have turned greenish purple. His deeply creased and stained cotton shirt looked like he'd been sleeping in it, which, considering how long he'd been missing was probably likely.

When John gestured with the hand that had been cut by the Genii, Rodney saw that the gauze was soaked with blood and trickles had escaped to trail down his forearm. He kept his left arm close to his side, hanging limply as if even raising his hand was painful. Another small blood stain was dried over the spot where Rodney knew John had been grazed by the bullet and infected by the killer pathogen.

Marks finished his questioning, and waved a goodbye to hustle off down the corridor towards the bridge, leaving John and Rodney alone. John turned to follow more slowly, shot a look at Rodney.

"What's going on, Rodney? Did they get Dave out of that building? The one Larsen blew up?"

Rodney thought he sounded anxious. "Yes, Marks beamed him onto the Daedalus with the rest of the strike force that went to get you. You were already gone. On the cargo ship I assume?"

"Yeah. Did he get a chance to tell Landry about the Trust's interest in PSI? Are they investigating?"

"Again, yes. Look, shouldn't you be heading to the infirmary? Jennifer's anxious to get her hands on you. Medically, I mean," Rodney added hastily at John's smirk. The man was half dead and still had enough snark for two regular men.

"Yeah, I should probably… feel a bit crappy."

Rodney snatched for John's arm as he listed to one side. He could feel the heat of a raging fever radiating from John's body as the motion brought him closer to John's shoulder.

"I bet you do," Rodney whispered.

"Just tell me where Dave is, first. Is he at the SGC? Are they going to send me there?"

"Um…" Rodney was suddenly unsure as how to answer. He knew John. He knew that he wouldn't rest or submit to medical treatment as long as people he cared about were in jeopardy. "Jennifer's at the SGC. That's where they're working on the pathogen you've been infected with. I'm sure they'll send you there. Why don't we go get that started."

John stopped his slow pace, looked at Rodney with a piercing look that was intimidating despite John's pathetic condition.

"You didn't answer my question, Rodney. Where's Dave?"

"You look terrible, John. You need to get started on antibiotics as soon as possible. You need to rest. Jennifer says it's going to get rough. You might not make it. You need to save all your strength to fight this pathogen until they find the cure."

"Rodney!"

Rodney cringed, "Dave's trapped inside a shielded warehouse with a known Goa'uld Trust Operative."

"What?!"

Fever or not, John looked like he could break Rodney in half at that moment.

"He agreed to a meeting with the Goa'uld named Perses. His host, Dimitri Kolohov is some Russian energy czar. Dave went to find out if this Perses would tell him anything about how to find you."

"Dimitri," John breathed softly, and Rodney saw recognition on John's face.

"You know him?"

"Larsen double crossed him. He was trying to use me to get back under Dimitri's protection after I screwed up his plans at DaeNaq."

"Perses has his own plans apparently. Dave went to the meeting, with Ronon and a strike force of course, but Perses threw up a shield around the warehouse. That was thirteen minutes ago. We haven't heard anything since."

"I'm going to the bridge." John walked off, more quickly this time, but Rodney saw him reach out to the wall as he went, steadying himself with the touch.

"John, at least go get your hand looked at and get a drink of water or something. You won't be any good to Dave if you pass out on the way down the hall." John just kept walking, forcing Rodney to jog after to stay within earshot. "Ronon's with him. He likes Dave. He won't let anything happen."

John stumbled, and leaned heavily against the wall, leaving a smear of blood where his hand pressed into the grey bulkhead.

"Ronon likes Dave?" John asked, his voice faint as he fought to regain his equilibrium.

"Loves him. How about a compromise? You check into the infirmary, get your hand patched up, get looked at for a bit and then I'll let you come to the bridge until we get Dave back."

"Close but not quite. I go to the bridge now, you bring me a couple of bottles of water, some Tylenol, and a medic to work on my hand while we're there."

"John - "

"Deal or no deal?"

John was already walking again and Rodney sighed in defeat. He tapped his earpiece, opening a channel.

"Infirmary, send a medic with some bottles of water to the bridge." He looked at John just disappearing around the next bend in the ship's winding corridors. A kind of amused respect brought a deep ache of sadness. Rodney knew that John wasn't the lie-around-waiting-to-die type. Rodney also knew the odds at finding a cure. If John wanted to stay on his feet until the bitter end, who was Rodney to stop him?

"Bring a clean shirt and a couple of jackets, too," Rodney added and jogged after his friend.

* * *

Five minutes later, John propped himself against the navigation panel, amazed at how much better he felt with a clean shirt and a couple of bottles of water in him. He held a third bottle in his freshly rewrapped hand. The medic had thrown a fit at his temperature and heart rate, but Rodney had run a little interference and the medic went away grumbling a promise to sedate John the moment he darkened the infirmary's door.

Even as John concentrated on trying to soak in the information flowing around him on the bridge, he knew that the "better" he felt was relative. He was at the edge of his reserves and the massive infection that was eating away at him from the inside would soon win the very personal battle for control. There had been a moment, when he'd realized that not only had he escaped Larsen but that he'd fallen into the hands of friends, that John had been ready to let go. He was so tired. He hurt so bad. He'd found himself wanting to say goodbye to Dave in case he didn't wake up from the month long nap he desperately wanted to get started on.

That had been before. There would be no naps until Dave was out of this next mess he'd gotten himself into. John wouldn't rest until he was certain there wasn't anything he needed to do. The conflict for control manifested in almost manic energy on John's part. He couldn't stand still. He fidgeted as he watched the activity on the bridge. He almost wished there was something he could do, physically, to keep himself going. He was afraid if he stopped moving, he would never start again.

"Damage report coming in, Colonel. The transmitter array was destroyed in the goa'uld ship's attack." The navigator seated on the other side of the wide control panel across from John turned his head to toss the report at Caldwell.

"Attack?" John asked, loudly enough to get the attention of the navigator. It was Caldwell who answered with an almost nervous glance his way. John was definitely getting a "Dead Man Walking" vibe from the way everyone kept acting so polite around him. It was unnerving. He shuffled his feet again and found himself tapping his foot.

"Your friend, Larsen, took a shot at us while you were ringing in and our shields were down."

"You shoot him back?" John heard his voice go cold.

"We got in a couple of glancing blows, but he took the ship into the atmosphere over New York City. We have that little problem about how we're not supposed to exist, and had to cease pursuit."

"Right. Rats." John thought for a moment. "The transmitter array? Does that mean the Asgard beaming sensors are down?" They'd run across that problem before.

"Yes, but we can still lock onto David Sheppard's subcutaneous transmitter with enough accuracy to beam him out once the shield goes down."

"Good."

John fidgeted for another few seconds, then wandered over to where Rodney was actively working on the undamaged sensors to try to get them through the goa'uld shield on the planet. He looked at his watch. Dave had been alone with Perses for twenty minutes. What the hell was going on down there?

"You got anything, Rodney?" he asked, falling into his routine of needling the scientist when he needed him to work faster.

"No," Rodney snapped and John backed off, verbally at least. He remained hovering over Rodney's shoulder, looking at the data scrolling over the monitors. A chirp like a cell phone ringtone twittered nearby and John looked around.

"Rodney, your pocket's beeping."

"What? Oh, it's Teyla." Rodney dug in his pocket to pull out a subspace radio handset like the one John had used in Julia's office. He flipped the volume louder so John would be able to hear too and pressed the talk button, still reading the sensor screens as he did so. "Go ahead, Teyla. How's the jet?"

When Teyla replied her voice was loud and thick with terror. John lurched heavily against Rodney's chair in reaction, feeling his own body charged with her communicated fear.

"Rodney! We need immediate assistance! Agent Daylon attacked the pilot, damaged the craft. We're losing altitude. Julia is piloting, but she is very frightened."

John looked at Rodney. Rodney stared back, the radio frozen in front of his mouth.

"Teyla and Julia are together?" John asked, angry at Rodney for not filling him in completely. Had he not asked '_what's going on'_? Rodney nodded. "In a plane?"

"Julia's private jet," Rodney said as if mesmerized, "Teyla is escorting her into protective custody."

"Get them on speakers," John snapped and Rodney scrambled.

John felt lightheaded with the jolt of adrenaline that threatened to overwhelm his already fragile system. Damn, he didn't know if he had enough left in him to control two situations. He moved to stand before Caldwell, unconsciously assuming the position of command, despite his weakness.

"Colonel, we have another situation on the planet. We need to prepare for emergency beam-up." As the words escaped John's lips, he locked eyes with Caldwell, remembering the little snafu they had to deal with. He turned to the navigator anyway, deciding they'd deal with the issue as it came up. "Use Teyla's transmitter to find them."

"Another situation, Colonel? We seem to be going for a record today." Caldwell muttered. But he didn't sound angry, just resigned, so John turned back to Rodney and got a nod. He tilted his chin into the air.

"Teyla? You still there? How many people are on the jet with you?"

The voice that now broadcast through the main speakers on the bridge managed to sound both scared and relieved. "John! It that you?"

"I hope so, because that's what Rodney keeps calling me."

"Thank goodness. We have been very worried about you."

"Appreciate that, but right now I'm a bit worried about you. How many people are on the jet, Teyla?"

"Four. Myself, Julia, our pilot and Agent Daylon. The pilot is badly injured, he needs medical assistance immediately." Teyla's voice suddenly went viciously satisfied, "Agent Daylon is unconscious."

"I really want to hear that story," John muttered appreciatively. "What's the status of the aircraft. Patch me through to Julia."

There was another moment's scramble as Teyla and the Daedalus crew linked the jet's radio transmitter to the subspace radio. Again, John spoke first, addressing the ceiling.

"Julia? How are you doing? What's your status?" He spoke calmly, soothingly.

"John? Is that you? Where are you? Are you at the tower?" Her voice sounded shaky and small, but John chuckled softly at the questions.

"Yes it's me, and why don't we talk more about you. Give me a situation report, pilot."

"Right. Of course. Daylon shot up the flight deck. I've got no instrumentation, I'm flying blind." Julia was sounding panicky and that was the first thing to address.

"No you're not," John snapped, "Find your backup instrumentation. Look out the window and confirm your situation. Avionics are for wimps. Amelia Earhart didn't have that computer crap, did she? It's just you and the machine. That's better. That's easier."

"Right. You're right. I flew single engine Cessna's as a kid."

"There we go. You can do this. Your controls are responding?"

"Controls are responding."

"Give me your altitude." John thought he'd confirm that she'd found her backups.

"25,000 feet. We lost some altitude when Chuck, when he – he's unconscious John, Daylon shot him through the back." The panic was still there. John forced himself to keep a soothing tone.

"Airspeed, pilot. Give me your airspeed." John needed her to focus on the plane, snap her out of the feeling of helplessness.

"250 knots."

John frowned. "Bring it up to 300."

"Ok." There was a pause, then, "We're level at 25,000 feet, 300 knots."

"Good, Julia. You're doing great. You can stay there forever. You check in with ATC, yet?"

"Just a mayday. They're aware and watching us."

"Give them a full report Julia. Ask for emergency landing instructions. Pick an airport and let them guide you there."

"Ok, but I can't land this thing, John. It's been too long. I don't have the certification or the hours. I can't do it."

"One step at a time. You'll be fine. Call ATC."

"Ok."

Julia's voice began a conversation with Air Traffic Control and John leaned over the navigation panel.

"She's right. She can't land that thing, she's way out of her league without autopilot assist," he hissed at the group that had gathered around which included Caldwell and Rodney. "Can we beam them out of the plane. Let her ditch it?"

The navigator responded, "I've found the plane, they're over Iowa at the moment. I can get Teyla with the transporter, her subcutaneous transmitter gives us a lock. I can't get a solid enough lock on the others without the Asgard array."

"What about using the radio, like you did for me in the F-302."

It was Rodney who piped up this time, "This is a different situation. You were traveling at a consistent speed, with a consistent vector, and a long range booster onboard. Even then we were lucky you didn't come back in pieces."

John stared at Rodney in long past-due alarm. He hadn't known he'd been in that much trouble all those years ago. Rodney went on, however, as usual contradicting himself when it came to pronouncements of doom. "But it still might be our best chance at getting them out. We should only beam one at a time if it comes to that. If it doesn't work, then at least we'll not have killed all of them at once."

John ran his hand through his hair and paced in a tight circle. Over the speakers, Julia was making course corrections under the instruction of the ATC. They were diverting her to Lincoln, Nebraska for landing.

"I need to get down there," he announced abruptly.

"Where? Nebraska?" Rodney asked, also listening in to Julia.

"No. Onto the jet. I need to pilot it down."

"You want to jump _into_ a falling airplane?"

"It's not falling. I can land it. Julia can't. We either get them out or I go in."

"We might be able to get two out with Teyla's transmitter," the navigator said. "If she held another passenger really close, we could get both of them by expanding the beam."

"But there are three others on the plane," Rodney snapped.

John was growing more determined, "Then I go down and if it gets bad I bring another one out with my transmitter. This Daylon guy can volunteer for radio extraction," John added the last, making it very clear who would be on the priority list for rescue.

There was a long collective moment of silence. John stared down Caldwell who was looking at him as if he was concerned about John's sanity. In the end, Caldwell shrugged ever so slightly and John's resolve solidified.

"Major, put me in that plane. Drop me in the back with Teyla. As soon as I get the pilot out of his seat, Teyla can bring him up for medical attention. I'll need Julia's help anyway. Give me a headset."

John took the small earpiece from the navigator who handed him his own unit, then stepped away from the console into the center of the room for pickup. Rodney pursued him, however, and grabbed for his arm, looking furious.

"I have to do it, Rodney," John said softly, even before Rodney got a word out. "Julia's family. What have I got to lose by trying? I'm dead anyway."

Rodney tried three times to start a rebuttal, then gave up and shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back.

"You and Ronon take care of Dave," John whispered. He waved his hand and spoke more loudly, "I'm ready, Major."

"Give me a second, sir. This is harder than beaming you to the ground, especially without the Asgard array. If I get it wrong, you could end up outside the jet. Or worse, halfway outside the jet."

"Take your time," John said, and meant it.


	24. Chapter 24

David looked back at Perses with equal harshness. "You do take me for a fool," he spat, "if you expect me to believe that you would simply hand over John's life for a promise to join you. Why would you believe that such a trade would win my allegiance? How can you even begin to think that I would accept this offer, knowing that it was you who poisoned John in the first place?"

David was closer to true fury than he'd ever been. He could understand rage at that moment – murder, violence. The realization that he had those darknesses within him was vastly disturbing and he faced it only with great difficulty. Ronon had told him to control his fear. It was anger he was having trouble with at the moment. Perses only smiled, as smooth as ever. The unruffled calm of the man was maddening.

"You doubt my understanding of your motives? Perhaps you are too concerned about your dear brother to be thinking clearly. So I will answer you questions." Perses folded his arms, looking like he was about to deliver a lecture at university.

"One, you are a man who takes his word seriously. If you made me a promise, even under duress, you would feel an obligation to keep it. Two, such a trade would win your allegiance by providing me with ongoing motivation. Your brother is obviously dear to you, which I find interesting. My research seemed to have indicated that you were not close, and in fact have been estranged for many years. If Colonel Sheppard survives, he will be comfortably within our grasp, should you need reminding of your loyalties."

"You mean you'll hold his life over my head in constant threat," David snarled.

"Exactly. Third, though this is a question you did not ask of yourself, and should have, is that after PSI fails and you are disgraced within your community you will have nowhere to go. You are an ambitious man, David Sheppard. I have learned that about you as well. You will soon tire of the uncomfortable life of mediocrity."

David fidgeted and Perses nodded appreciatively. "Perhaps you don't admit to that ambition easily, but I see it within you. It will manifest when you no longer have your father's empire to run and see the one of your own that you could build."

David wrestled down the fury with effort, trying to think, realizing this was a contest of will: Perses believed that once David hit bottom, the combined pressures of unemployment and threat against John – not to mention promises of riches – would bring him into the Trust as a willing collaborator. There was a certain logic to it, from Perses' twisted point of view.

"_If_ PSI fails," David answered carefully at last, "I would be…free from certain obligations and available for other opportunities. If John lives, I would be free of my responsibility to him as well."

"Well done," Perses replied, his voice low with pleasure. "You see the futility of denying your true nature."

"Then give me the antidote." David knew he was pressing his luck. He'd made no true promise.

"Gladly," Perses pulled out the vial and David sucked in a fast breath, surprised that it could be that easy. "For a price."

"What more do you want from me?" David shouted, hearing his voice crack.

"A gesture of good faith. I will trade you this vial of antidote for the vial of symbiote neurotoxin that you have in your pocket."

David tried hard not to let his eyes go wide with surprise, but Perses wasn't fooled. "Come now, you didn't think I expected you to meet me completely unarmed? If you are sincere in your desire to save your brother, then a potion not even of your own making seems little sacrifice. Consider it our first business transaction."

David felt the trap shut. Perses was far more cunning than David had given him credit for. The neurotoxin was of no importance to David, despite Barrett's rather dramatic warning. What the exchange represented was far more significant. If David gave Perses the toxin, it would prove that David could be manipulated by the Trust. That John's life was a big enough threat to hold against him. That David was weak.

He clasped the toxin tightly within his pocket. Perses affected a casual pose, and inspected the warehouse around them as if giving David some private time. Perses knew what he was asking, oh yes. Perses knew exactly what he was doing. He needed no promise.

David closed his eyes. He'd underestimated Perses and he felt another flush of anger at the manipulation, the helplessness that these people had inflicted upon him. He'd walked away from clients who'd tried with far less success to manipulate him, just because he didn't like it. Every instinct in his body was screaming walk away now. He wanted his life back – the one without voices whispering in the shadows. If David refused the trade, his honor would remain intact. He would owe the Trust nothing. He would be back in control.

And John would be dead.

But John was a soldier, willing and expected to give his life for a greater cause. As much as he ached with grief for what he would lose, David finally understood that greater cause John fought so hard for. The Trust was a formidable enemy. Their plans were global and their motives egocentric.

He took the vial of neurotoxin out of his pocket and looked at it. His hands were shaking. If he dropped it, Perses would die. Maybe…

"There is an interesting trait you should know about the antidote," Perses said as if reading David's mind. "The formula breaks down when exposed to air. And this vial is quite fragile. Important facts to keep in mind."

Meaning, killing Perses would certainly cause him to drop the antidote, David thought, his last card outdealt. John would still die.

"Go prepare for our departure," Perses said to the thickset bodyguard who had watched the entire exchange silently as a statue. The guard nodded, then walked back towards the corner they'd appeared from, and abruptly vanished. Perses held the antidote up.

"Do we have an agreement?"

Slowly, David held out the neurotoxin. Just as slowly he lifted all but his thumb and forefinger off of the vial until he was dangling it between himself and Perses by the barest of grips. Perses frowned and flicked a worried glance between the vial and David's determined eyes. Doubt and, yes, fear crept into the smug assurance. At that moment, in that instant of time, David held Perses' life in his hands, and Perses knew it.

With a glint of triumph, David held out his other hand.

"We have a trade," he said.

Perses reached for the toxin and David let it go first, thoroughly enjoying Perses' deepening displeasure. The exchange was not as sweet a victory as he had been hoping. David stepped back, clutching the vial of pink liquid tightly, almost afraid he would crush it in his desperate desire to keep it safe. Perses finally nodded, no longer smug. David lost some of his own confidence at the glint of danger that appeared in the slightly glowing eyes.

"We will speak again, David Sheppard. I do not envy you the suffering you must endure to realize your place, but I will be waiting for you when you do."

David could think of no reply, so he just nodded with a jerk, feeling a slight thrill of fear return. Perses seemed so sure of himself. The Trust operative turned and walked towards the vanishing place, but paused before he passed through.

"Remember my generosity when your brother returns to his real family on Atlantis and leaves you behind. Alone." And then he was gone.

David waited for three heartbeats, then bolted for the warehouse door.

"Agent Barrett, I'm coming out! I've got the antidote and a place to start looking for the cargo ship!" There was no reply, only the silence that had been there since he entered the building. "Barrett?"

Concerned by the lack of a reply – there was no need for subterfuge now – David ran even faster and snatched for the handle on the metal door that would take him back into the alley. Instead of touching cold metal, he felt an electric charge and was flung backwards off his feet when the door and the whole wall shimmered with golden ripples.

"Barrett! The door is blocked, I can't get out. What should –."

He was interrupted by a low whine that rose rapidly to a high pitched screech. David scooted closer to the door as the windows along the ceiling began to vibrate with the pulsing rumble that also thrummed through David's pants and into his very bones. The golden shimmer came back to life and surrounded the entire space in an eerie glow. Then it abruptly collapsed into a golden bubble in the far corner of the warehouse, right at the place where Perses had disappeared. The force field knocked David flat and breathless as it scraped by him.

He lay frozen to the cold concrete, watching the bubble rise towards the aluminum and steel roof. It was just touching the first rafters when the metal door flung open with enough force to twist it off its hinges. The next thing David knew, Ronon was yanking him to his feet by the front of his vest and bodily dragging him outside.

The warehouse continued to vibrate and rumble. David looked skyward, stumbling as Ronon continued to drag him towards the street. He never saw the ship, but he saw debris and flashes of the ship's cloak as the roof exploded upwards. By the time they reached the curb where he'd started half an hour ago, the ship was gone. A babble of voices screamed into David's ear as he became aware of his surroundings again.

_"Another cargo ship…"_

_"Daedalus had if for a second, lost it in the atmosphere…"_

_"We've got Sheppard. Initiating standing orders and beaming him to the Daedalus, now."_

"I'm coming, too," Ronon said both at his side and through the earpiece.

And then David was on the bridge of the Daedalus. Again he felt that eerie sensation of sudden silence as the chatter in his ear ceased abruptly to be replaced by the soft murmur of crew at work. He was facing the massive bridge window, and caught a glimpse of the East Cost curving into the shadow line on Earth far down below.

"Glad you're back, Dave!" Ronon thumped him on the back a few times, then turned to the command deck. Dave turned with him and found himself looking straight at…

"John!" David exclaimed.

He took one step towards his brother when a man sitting at the console to Colonel Caldwell's right shouted right at him. No, he was shouting at John.

"I've got it! Ready for transport, sir!"

"Do it," John said and lowered himself into a crouch, his hands on his knees. He looked at David, threw a sad half-smile.

"What's going on?" David demanded, feeling like something was suddenly, horribly wrong.

"Goodbye, Dave," John said. He vanished in a flash of white light.

David stood staring at the empty spot for a long moment, and then he held up the hand with the vial. It was still clutched tightly in his fist, the pink fluid still safely swirling inside the fragile glass.

"What's that?" Ronon asked suddenly. Everyone else was still tensely at work around them. David let his arm drop, letting it hang limply at his side.

"It doesn't matter, now," he whispered.


	25. Chapter 25

The white flash faded and John dropped an inch or two to land on unsteady feet. He was immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of fried electronics and the copper tang of blood. He stumbled heavily, trying to regain his balance at the awkward landing. He finally managed to stop wobbling by thrusting a hand into the ceiling and his knee into one of the tan leather seats. The saturated smell of jet fuel and new leather triggered the strangest thought that he had just dropped into a flying Mercedes.

"John! What are you doing here?" Teyla demanded and John swiveled to face the front of the jet. Teyla was pulling herself out of the small corridor to the cockpit where it looked like she must have been trying to help the injured pilot. She had a First Aid kit at her feet and blood on her hands.

"Thought I'd drop in to say, Hi," John retorted. "I'm going to land the plane," he added at her severe look. She tried for a moment to maintain an attitude of disapproval, but her expression quickly turned to relief.

"Julia will welcome your intervention," she admitted.

"Help me get the pilot out of his seat. Then the Daedalus will beam you both up. Transporter sensors are out, they can only get a lock using our subcutaneous transmitters."

"Understood," Teyla sighed.

John looked warily at the unconscious Agent Daylon who sat slumped in the rear port seat while Teyla began unbuckling the pilot. She had tied Daylon's hands behind his back with something, then buckled him into the seat sitting on them. John looked around a bit more. The space was cramped and low compared to his jumpers, but every inch was luxurious. Leather and chrome gleamed throughout the cabin in warm toned comfort. The four seats in the cabin sat facing each other, leaving an open center space for feet and knees.

"Can you move him, John?" Teyla was turned around again, panting from her first attempt to get the pilot out. "He's too large for me to maneuver."

John rolled his eyes. She always spoke precisely and there was no question of Teyla being strong enough, the pilot must be too large for her size. Great. She moved out of his way and he squeezed through the corridor and poked his head into the cockpit. Julia was sitting with frozen terror in the co-pilot's seat, her hands gripping the yoke so tightly that John could see her knuckles standing out in white strings.

"Hi, Julia," he said softly, knowing there would be no way he could avoid startling her. "Permission to come aboard, pilot?"

As expected she jumped at his voice and cut loose with a couple of choice expletives that quite impressed John.

"How the hell did you get on this plane?" she demanded. "Where did you come from? What is going on here?"

John heard the panic just below the startle-induced anger and hastened to calm Julia back down.

"I promise to tell you everything later, but right now, I'm here to help. You sounded like you needed a little."

"Help. Yes, a little help. How did you get here to help?"

"Later, Julia."

"Really? You'll tell me everything? And I mean everything? Like how you got into my office, and how you got out of the elevator and how you found our radio frequency and why timezones are confusing and how -"

"Scout's honor," John interrupted. "I'll tell you as much as you promise to keep to yourself. It's a great story. Right now, I need to get your friend out of his seat so I can use it. You OK for a few more minutes?"

"ATC has me on slow descent to Lincoln. We're just passing through 18,000 feet."

"Good."

John turned his attention to the pilot who was probably in his fifties and looked like he'd been spending a little too much time at the airport snack bar between flights. A dark red and shiny stain spread over the right half of his chest and John cringed at the sight. Gathering his strength, John tucked his arms under the pilot's armpits, braced himself against the tiny strip of floor he had to work with and heaved.

The pilot flopped into the aisle and John shoved backwards, letting himself fall towards the cabin. Teyla was beside him in an instant and together they tugged the injured man into the relatively open space among the passenger seats and laid him gently onto his back. John was gasping at the exertion and had to wave aside Teyla's concerned touch.

"Prop…him…against you…then signal the Daedalus," he panted, bracing himself against the ceiling again.

"John, you are not well," Teyla said softly, laying the back of her hand against his hot forehead despite his continued swats to brush her off.

"I'm better than this guy," he replied, finally just taking her hand and squeezing it hard. "The only way to get him up is for you to go with him. I'll bring Julia up the same way if we have any more problems with the jet."

Teyla glanced into the cockpit, "Julia is very nice. I like her a lot. You have wonderful family, John," she said, looking him in the eye.

"I know," he answered pointedly, looking at her right back and squeezing her hand again.

Teyla sat down on the floor beside the pilot and propped him up against her chest. She handed John the subspace walkie-talkie.

"Daedalus, I'm ready to transport myself and one other," she said, tapping her radio headset. "Have a medical team standing by."

"Copy that, Teyla. Give us a few seconds to secure the lock."

John waved a comic little wave as Teyla sighed and waited for the lock. It took about thirty seconds, and then the white light flashed and Teyla was gone. John was about to duck into the cockpit when the plane lurched and spun around him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and gulped down air like he'd been drowning. It took him a few breaths to realize that the plane wasn't spinning, his head was.

Fighting off the dizziness, he took another few steadying breaths and was able to continue forward. He needed to sit down, anyway, he thought. He needed to land the plane and then the world could spin all it wanted. He wouldn't be awake to notice.

"How we doing, Julia?" he asked, as he sank into the seat that was cushy and comfortable, despite the bullet hole through its back. He scanned the flight deck for his guages. The three large screens that would normally display all the usual information a pilot used for instrument and computer assisted flight were dark. Two bullet holes were centered like spiders in a cobwebbing of cracked glass. John looked instead for the mechanical backup gauges, feeling a bit old for thinking of them as familiar. The last helicopter he'd flown on Earth had been far more primitive than this jet's tribute to modern avionics.

He was quite grateful there were no holes in the cockpit windows above the screens. A late afternoon sun danced through the panes and turned the thin layer of clouds below into a blinding carpeting of cotton.

"Passing through 15,000 feet. 300 knots."

"Good. Mind if I take over?" John asked, hoping Julia would recognize the courtesy as the compliment it was intended to be. He glanced over and saw her bite her lip. Her cheeks went a bit pink.

"You are welcome to it," she answered, her relief quite evident.

John tugged the pilot's radio headset over his ears, situating it so he'd be able to hear the Daedalus, too, and reached for the yoke. Julia dropped her hands into her lap and John caught her deep sigh. He spent a moment familiarizing himself with the controls and was about to contact ATC when Julia turned to look back into the cabin.

"Teyla, how is Chuck doing?" she asked, sounding shaky and concerned.

"Uh," was all John managed to say before Julia stiffened in alarm and began to peer frantically into the rear.

"Where the hell are they? Where did they go?"

"Teyla took your pilot up for medical assistance. He's just fine, I promise."

Julia threw herself back into her seat with an angry slouch. "Up?" she repeated with a snap. "You can add that to the list of answers you've promised to give me, John."

"Fair enough. What's your call sign?"

"Cessna Niner Alpha Echo."

John glanced at Julia with amusement, "Earhart again? You've got it bad."

"Just fly the plane, Colonel."

"Fine. But if you get snippy, I won't tell you where she went down." Julia whipped around to glare at him but John just flicked the toggle to turn on his headset. "Flight, this is Cessna Niner Alpha Echo." He finally looked back at Julia who was still watching him. "We have a change of PIC."


	26. Chapter 26

Julia watched John take the controls like he'd been born to them, feeling the anger of stress, frustration and confusion slide away into almost overwhelming relief. She didn't know how John had gotten here, but damn, she was glad he was.

After John reported the change of Pilot In Charge, he requested airspace to run the plane through some turns, claiming he needed to get a feel for the controls before he attempted a landing. Julia gripped the armrests of her chair tightly when John next pulled back on the throttles and slowed the plane into a full stall. Her stomach did butterflies as the jet dropped like a stone for 300 feet, then sailed forward like a glider when John dipped the nose and added power for a full recovery.

"Cessna niner Alpha Echo, why did you wait so long to assume control of the craft?" the air traffic controller wanted to know after another nearly perfect commercial turn. "You are obviously an experienced pilot."

"I was taking a nap," John replied lightly with that knowing grin that Julia was coming to recognize as a favorite of John's. It was infuriating.

"During an incident aboard your plane involving gunfire?" the controller demanded.

"I'm a sound sleeper," John retorted. "Flight, what is our position? I'm above overcast at 12,000 feet."

"You're thirty miles East of LNK."

"South of Omaha, right?"

"You're twenty miles Southwest of Omaha."

"Flight, transfer me to Offutt Air Force Base."

"Cessna niner Alpha Echo, that's a private airfield. You can't land there. Besides, you've passed Offutt, you'll have to backtrack East."

"I understand that. I have clearance, and a military prisoner on board. Transfer me to Offutt."

"Oh, Ok, then, Cessna niner Alpha Echo, transferring your case to Offutt's Tower. Call me back if you need anything. Good luck." Julia could swear the controller sounded disappointed. Emergency landings with prisoners and gunfire would definitely spice up an average day in Lincoln.

"Thanks for the assistance, Lincoln," Julia added.

John executed a smooth turn that put the sun to their backs and their nose towards Omaha. Shortly thereafter, he initiated another spat of conversation with the Offutt control tower, this time accompanied by a long conversation involving authorization codes and John getting testy with the lieutenant on duty. Julia smirked when John finally pulled rank, and told the obviously young man that he was going to land the plane on their General's front yard if they didn't give him clearance. The tower was silent for a couple of minutes after that.

"Authorization confirmed. Cessna niner Alpha Echo you are cleared to land under VFR as requested. Stay on current heading for the next ten minutes, then we'll guide you through your turn and get you below the ceiling. We've got good visibility, you'll be fine."

"Roger that."

John leaned back in the seat and rubbed his eyes. Julia felt herself also relaxing a bit into the brief few minutes of nothing to do but fly in a straight line. She wouldn't relax completely until she had her own two feet on solid ground, but for the first time since that terrifying moment when Daylon had started firing into the cockpit at Chuck and her, she actually thought she might live to do it.

An awkward silence fell over them. John seemed tense, fidgety almost, and Julia's mind was so full of questions and worry that she couldn't think of any appropriate small talk to start a conversation. John rubbed his eyes again, and Julia frowned as she noticed his bandaged hand shaking before he returned it to the yoke.

"Do you have any water?" he asked abruptly.

"Chuck keeps a bottle under the seat," she answered, her frown deepening as John dug around and then put the discovered bottle to his lips with something like desperation. Perhaps she was being alarmist, or just hyper-sensitive from the stress of their situation, but she didn't think John looked all that good.

"David said you were missing," she remembered suddenly, speaking the thought out loud accidentally. Had he been injured? Abused during his capture?

"McKay found me," John answered. Julia rolled her eyes. John was clearly a master at non-answer answers.

"But David said the meeting with that enemy informant was about trading for information to find you."

"I sortof found myself, to tell the truth; I escaped. I don't know what happened at Dave's meeting. I only saw him for a second."

"You saw him! He's OK?"

"He looked like he was in once piece."

"Thank God," she breathed, feeling another knot of tension unravel that she hadn't quite realized she was carrying. There was another lull. John didn't seem interested in conversation, but that had never stopped Julia before.

"So, since we have a couple of minutes, how about one or two of those questions you promised to answer?" John didn't say anything. "John?"

"What? Oh, questions. Right. What did you want to ask?"

Julia narrowed her eyes and looked hard at John. His reply had been too slow, like he'd had to come a long way back from somewhere else to answer. He was breathing fast, although not like from exertion, and she suddenly noticed the large purple dinosaur egg of a bruise over his right eye.

"John, are you alright?" He flipped a switch on the radio with a little too much force.

"We'll be fine, Julia. This is a sweet ride. I'll put her on the ground, piece of cake."

Another non-answer. "I'm glad to hear you sound so confident. I sat in on the manufacturer's training course when I bought the jet and it intimidated me. Chuck spent a year in training on these birds before he started flying them commercially."

"Let's just say I've got a lot of hours flying a lot of different ships. I'm sort of an expert at learning quickly."

"So how _did_ you get here?" Julia couldn't resist. It was driving her crazy, and John seemed more focused as she kept him talking.

"Transporter," he said.

"Like on TV? Beam me up and all that?"

"Yup. I couldn't tell you all the physics, but basically you disappear in one place, and appear somewhere else. Damn handy for getting around quickly." He threw her a mischievous grin that he didn't quite sell, "Or for getting into places without going through the front door."

Julia just shook her head in amazement, "David said you worked with cutting edge technology. I had no idea how advanced he meant. It must have been killing him all these months not to talk about it," she realized.

"I'm sure he was given the riot act about secrecy and national security."

John suddenly closed his eyes tightly shut and began to breathe deeply.

"John, what's wrong," Julia snapped.

"Nothing. I mean I'm a bit under the weather, but I'll be… I'll get us down, Julia. I promise. Dave would kill me if I let anything happen to you."

Julia felt a thrill of foreboding. John sounded just like David had on the phone earlier today, when he wouldn't promise he would be all right and was half saying good-bye. And like before, she found herself growing angry.

"You came here because of David? Are you that arrogant? Or is it some kind of idiotic sibling competition that turns you both stupid? You're sick – and don't deny it, David tries to pull the same crap on me all the time. You're sick, you shouldn't be here. Surely there's someone else in the entire Air Force that can fly a jet and use that amazing beam technology?"

"No. There isn't." John answered tonelessly and Julia was startled out of her indignation. She'd expected anger, or maybe even more evasive humor, but the dull contradiction was alarming. She kept her mouth shut as John went on with an air of infinite weariness. "I'm not stupid, but I am a bit arrogant. I know I can do this, and I'm the only one I'm willing to ask to try. You're family, Julia. Dave needs you. It's not like we talk or anything, but I can tell." He suddenly cocked his head at her as if making an important decision.

"Look, I don't know what's going to happen once we're down. My people will get there as fast as they can, but I don't know how long it will be before I get to see Dave again, so would you tell him – Uh…" he broke off, turning red and looking at something on the ceiling in poorly disguised discomfiture.

Julia's eyes began to sting again. She didn't even quite know why, except that John's half-goodbye felt like it was bordering on a deathbed confession. John went on without looking at her, "Just tell Dave that he did a good job with Larsen. He did the right thing and don't let him beat himself up about me."

"About you?" Julia asked softly.

"Just tell him," John repeated sternly. He took a deep breath, checked his gauges and his surroundings. They were just over the cloud cover, skimming the tops so that it felt like they were sledding on snow. ""Bout time to contact Offutt again and make our turn."

Julia looked ahead in her seat, feeling a bit nervous about the landing and overwhelmingly worried about John. He was holding something back. Something that would affect David. Something that he didn't think he'd get to tell David himself?

John was reaching for the radio when a voice screamed into her own headset with such fierce volume, that she slapped her hands to her ears to press against the muffs.

"SHEPPARD! Take evasive action."

Before Julia could even translate the words into meaning, John had flipped the plane into a sharp left turn. She was thrown to the edge of the seat as the right wing outside the window beside her went nearly vertical. She caught a glimpse of pure blue sky beyond the wingtip when a flash of light streaked past them and on into the clouds below.

John throttled up and leveled out for an instant before repeating the maneuver to the right. Julia's stomach lurched as she saw the right wing dip into the clouds and she slid in her seat towards the cockpit window.

"Give me coordinates," John was saying, his voice loud but controlled. "I can't outmaneuver them in this thing!"

"It's 18 degrees above your six,"

"Roger that."

John yanked on the yoke and the jet went soaring into a steep climb. The engine roared into a whine of protest as John opened up and they shot skywards.

"Rodney, I could use a little backup!" John yelled.

"We're on it. We just can't miss or we'll take out a farm. Nice move, by the way. They're having to climb to get above you to fire again."

"Just tell me where they are."

"They'll overtake your altitude in five…four…three…two…take evasive!"

Julia was lurched to the side as John banked hard left again. Another flash streaked by Julia's window, even closer this time. The jet continued its turn. Julia felt the wings shudder.

"Shit," John gasped as the jet stalled and started to drop on its side. "Rodney! I overbanked. I need 30 seconds to recover and about 500 feet before I'm maneuverable again."

Julia was terrified. An overbank stall was one of those fatal mistakes that all pilots were warned about almost fanatically in flight school. John had lots of altitude to work with, but Julia closed her eyes in terror at the feeling of freefall. She started to count her own frantic heartbeats in an effort to focus on something besides the thought of the ground rushing up at her…20,000 feet below.

She'd only made it to about thirty when John grunted a very soft, "Got it," and she opened her eyes to watch the cotton clouds below them spin closer in lazy circles. John had regained control of the fall and was spiraling them downwards as fast as they'd just been rocketing skywards.

"This is not a fighter jet," she said, her voice high and panicky, wondering how much stress her wimpy commercial plane could take.

"No kidding. If it were I'd have a couple of missiles to blow those bastards up," John quipped back. "Rodney, about that backup!"

"Keep spiraling, Sheppard, they're watching you. You look like you're falling. If they sit around and watch for another two seconds, we'll have them."

"One thousand one, one thousand two…"

"Make that five seconds."

"Rodney!"

The clouds were coming up at them with frightening speed and John kept spiraling. Julia shot a glance at John and saw his arms bulging with tension as he fought the controls. His eyes were locked out the window and he was breathing through his mouth in fast controlled pants. He looked focused, but not afraid and Julia felt a chill as she realized that John had done this before. Not in this plane in this way, but John had seen combat and done things that Julia could only have nightmares about. The danger lurking under John's light and casual demeanor was fully unleashed, and Julia found it disturbing.

To distract herself, she looked back out her window towards the tail of the plane. She couldn't see the enemy that was firing at them, and she didn't have any idea what kind of aircraft it was. It was all so confusing and frightening.

A streak of light, almost bright blue in its intensity pierced the sky from such an altitude that it seemed to come from space itself (which she later learned, it had). The blue beam struck something invisible in the air above and behind them and a golden bubble appeared out of nowhere as the blue beam was deflected. At nearly the same instant, a yellow beam like the ones that had already sliced past them stabbed out of the bubble and sheared off their Starboard engine.

Julia screamed as the jet lurched and rattled with enough force to jam her teeth together. John swore and slammed back the throttles.

"We just lost power to the Starboard engine. Julia can you see what happened? Can you see the engine?" John's voice was tense as he fought the controls, trying to keep the jet steady as it bucked and pitched.

Julia gripped her seat hard and looked. "It's gone, John. The whole engine is just gone!"

"Rodney, where is the cargo ship?" John growled into his headset.

"You're clear, Sheppard. Larsen took off towards Utah after we got a hit."

"We took a hit, too. Lost our Starboard engine. Julia how's the wing? Feels wobbly on that side."

Julia looked again and gasped. A long dark burn streak lay in a deadly stripe across the crisp white paint, from front to back of the wing. The streak was in fact a groove, cut into the fabric of the wing itself. The tip was beginning to wobble, bending at the groove in ever widening oscillation.

"Something cut across it," she reported, not knowing how better to describe what she was seeing. "It looks like it's going to snap at the groove."

As if in response, the plane began to shudder as the flailing wing sent vibrations through the whole fuselage.

"Damn," John whispered. He met Julia's eyes for an instant and she saw concern for the first time. The moment of uncertainty was quickly replaced with resolve. "Daedalus, prepare to beam us up on my signal. Is anyone in trouble down below us when we ditch the jet?"

"You're clear. Nice big cow pasture to sink it into."

"First thing that's gone right all day. Start scanning for the lock. We may not have long once the wing goes."

"Understood. Make sure you two get close. You're bouncing all over the place down there. We just barely got both Teyla and the pilot under good conditions."

"Understood," John replied sounding grim. He had to concentrate for a moment as the jet listed to the right and shook with a violent rattle. When he could speak again, his voice had that tone of command Julia had heard in her office. "Julia, I need to you unbuckle, get to the cabin and then lie down on the floor."

"What? Why?"

"No time to chat," John snapped through another teeth-rattling shudder. "Do what I tell you."

"Of course."

Julia fumbled with her buckle and then pushed out of her seat, falling back into it again when the plane dropped suddenly out from under her.

"Go!" John yelled. Julia scrambled harder, hanging onto the armrests and the backs of the seats as she worked her way towards the rear, the floor vibrating and lurching out from under her feet. A violent shake threw her to her knees and she simply crawled the rest of the way into the cabin, propping her side against one of the seats and hanging onto the buckle.

Agent Daylon was just waking up from whatever Teyla had done to him and was looking around at the groaning, rattling fuselage around him. She saw fear in his eyes when he looked at her and started to struggle against his restraints.

"John! Daylon is awake! He needs to get out of here, too!" Julia had to scream to be heard over the noise of the distressed craft.

Julia wasn't sure what Daylon's plan had been, perhaps he would have been able to fly the plane once the rest of them were dead or incapacitated, but she couldn't condemn even the traitorous Daylon to death in a crashing airplane. Julia heard John's reply but he wasn't talking to her.

"Rodney, get the other guy out of here. Can you grab him with a radio lock?"

Julia couldn't hear the reply, her headset was wired into the cockpit, but a few seconds later a brilliant white flash surrounded the struggling Daylon who's eyes went wide with relief as it completely engulfed him. Julia blinked at the brightness. When she could see again, Daylon was gone.

"So that's how it works," she whispered to herself, a little bit glad she'd seen it before she had to do it.

"Rodney, do you have the lock?" John said next and Julia twisted to peer into the cockpit. John was fighting with the yoke. She didn't know how he kept the plane in the air, much less how he was guiding it into an ascent as he seemed to be doing. To give them more time once they started to fall, she wondered?

She knew the instant the wing failed. The jet gave a single, hard shake, and then it rolled gently to the right. Julia was thrown forward and into the front starboard seat, and suddenly understood John's instruction to lie down. She tried to comply and felt the plane continue to roll, its nose tipping towards the ground. She managed to flop onto her belly in the middle of the open space, her feet pointing towards the cockpit.

With a sickening twist, the world shifted, and the floor she was on was no longer "down". Down became the cockpit and Julia felt herself sliding into the corridor. The cockpit windows loomed below her and for a horrible instant, Julia was certain she was going to fall through them into the emptiness beyond.

Panicked, she tried to climb "up" the carpeting towards the rear seats. The plane twisted as it spiraled towards the ground and she began to drift away from the comforting solidness of the floor. She screamed just as a hot, heavy weight pinned her back down and pressed her into the floor with sudden, reassuring stability.

"I've got you," John rasped into her ear.

"John," she sobbed, "I don't want to die this way."

"You're not going to die. You'll be fine. Trust me."

Julia buried her face into the carpet, feeling John's hard body behind her, anchoring her to a solid surface that refused to stay "down". During one last terrifying roll, they both drifted away from the floor for an instant and Julia realized that John had his feet pressed against the bulkhead between the cockpit and cabin, keeping them from falling towards the flight deck. He had one arm hooked into the base of the nearest seat. The other arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and she reached up to grab his arm, desperately needing the security of human touch.

"Now…would…really be…a good time…Rodney," John gasped into the small headset he still wore after he gave a mighty heave and they slammed back into the "floor" once again. The plane began to shriek with the pain of stressed metal around them. The cockpit windows exploded inwards and shards of glass went whizzing around the cabin in a sudden rush of wind. John grunted in her ear and she was terrified to realize that he was trembling, his whole body shuddering against her.

Julia closed her eyes, and buried her face into John's shoulder, certain they were going to die, wondering if she would feel anything when she did. She felt John pull her even closer to him, and she was glad she wasn't going to die alone. She almost felt safe in John's arms. Tears squeezed out between her lashes; she wished she could have seen David one last time.

When the white light surrounded her and the roar of the wind and the scream of the disintegrating jet ceased suddenly, Julia was certain that she was dead. She held still for a long time, eyes shut, body rigid. Finally, she realized that she was becoming quite uncomfortable and that there were voices talking around her. The floor under her was cold and textured metal, not carpeting.

"Nothing's broken, you can move him off, but keep him on his side. He's got some glass in his back."

Julia didn't recognize the voice, but she began to suspect that she wasn't dead after all when John groaned softly again in her ear. Julia suddenly remembered the white light around Daylon and began to struggle to get out from under a heavy and completely motionless John. Motionless except for the tremors that still shuddered through him.

"Give us a second, ma'am," the voice said and Julia held still just until John was lifted gently off of her and she squirmed until she sat up with John's head resting lightly in her lap. He had his eyes tightly squeezed shut, and he was breathing in short shallow gasps. She reached out to brush his spiky hair off of his forehead.

"He's burning up!" she exclaimed, finally looking up and around her. She was in a room of overwhelming grey, and three people Julia had never seen before in her life were kneeling around them. They wore military uniforms of some sort and all were holding medical equipment. One was taking John's blood pressure, another was cutting open John's shirt along the back and Julia gasped at the streaks of blood over pale skin hiding underneath black fabric.

The third had her wrist between his fingers.

"I'm fine," Julia snapped, stroking John's head again. "Take care of John."

"We've got to get the glass out, then we'll move him to intensive care," the medic soothed. "Are you OK? Any pain?"

"No, I'm ok. I'm fine. Just, why is he so hot?"

The medic clenched his jaw and wouldn't answer, but Julia thought he looked worried. She couldn't take her eyes off John's pale and still face. Pounding feet finally tore her gaze away and she was suddenly yanked to her feet and crushed into a desperate embrace.

"Julia, my God, you're OK. Thank God, you're OK," David choked out, burying his face in her hair. She melted into his fierce embrace, then felt herself shuddering with reaction.

"Thank John," she whispered finally. "David, you should have seen him fly that plane."

She pushed away suddenly, overwhelmed with concern for John. David let her turn to watch the medics work on John, but he kept his arms wrapped around her and she leaned into his chest gratefully. It didn't take long for her to realize that he was leaning just as hard on her.

Teyla and another man that Julia didn't recognize were crouched at John's head, talking and/or scolding him with the lighthearted banter of deeply concerned friends. John kept his eyes shut, but he was whispering answers to their gentle questions. The medics kept a worried watch on his pulse and blood pressure while one worked frantically to remove shards from John's back.

"Pressure's dropping," one medic announced loudly, "we need to get him off the floor and stabilized."

"That's the last of it," the medic at John's back yelled, just as John began to shudder with some kind of seizure. Julia buried her face in David's chest as the efficient medics launched John off the floor and onto a gurney where he was wheeled towards a waiting bed surrounded by a swarm of more doctors and nurses.

David slumped heavily against her, and Julia pushed away again, this time in concern for David. He looked older, haggard, burdened with some care that lay deep in his eyes. He was looking at John's friends however and took a shuddering breath. Shakily, David reached out a hand to the man standing beside Teyla.

"Well done, Dr. McKay," he said as the man took the hand and they shook firmly.

"We'll see," McKay shrugged. David just added an arm slap to the handshake and then turned to Teyla.

"Thank you, Teyla." His voice was soft with gratitude and he squeezed Julia tightly as he spoke.

"Thank you for what you've done for John," Teyla replied and Julia looked at David curiously.

"What have you done for John?" she demanded.

"That is a very long story, Julia," David answered, sounding more like himself.

"Then you'd better get started, David Sheppard. John promised me the whole story. I'm not leaving this room until I know John's going to be OK, so I'm thinking we've got time. You can start by telling me where the hell I am."

David laughed and pulled her close, crushing her into his arms again.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear and said nothing else. Julia sighed. That was all the answer she was going to get.

As she sank into his embrace, she decided that was really OK, for now.


	27. Chapter 27

John faded in and out for a long time. When he was close to the surface, he would listen for familiar voices. Someone was always nearby and he would sink again, soothed by a gentle murmur or comforting grumble.

He finally figured out that he was in the SGC infirmary as he rolled droopy eyes around him during one semi-conscious moment. He didn't remember how he'd gotten there, but the beds were comfortable and he wasn't awake long enough to care much if they hadn't been. People kept telling him he was going to be fine, that he'd be feeling better soon. He didn't believe them, but at least he knew he wasn't alone.

Even once he started to wake up for a few minutes at a time, his memories of those times remained fuzzy and he'd doze off in the middle of conversations. Once, he dozed off during a visit from General Landry and woke up four hours later to find Dr. Lam still chuckling about her father's disgruntled reaction to the unintentional insult.

Sometimes Teyla would be sitting beside his bed, bouncing Torren on her knee and entertaining the baby with small toys and books. Sometimes Rodney and Ronon would be there, watching in stoic silence as he drifted awake. Then they would argue and complain about whatever they thought John might be interested in until he zonked out and they fell silent again.

Dave came and went. It was weird to see his brother working the room on those occasions when John found himself awake and Dave was there. He moved and talked and acted as if he owned the place. There was none of the uncertainty he had suffered during his first trip to Atlantis, and his brother's familiarity started to creep John out. It reminded him of how David had worked the party at their father's funeral; never too sad, never quite too cheerful for the occasion. Only here the party was the infirmary, the guests were John's friends and colleagues, and the funeral was John's.

The thing that started to really disturb John, was that he was waking up at all. The last thing he'd heard about the killer pathogen he'd picked up was that it was bad. Bring you home and kiss you goodbye bad. The speed and severity of the symptoms that John had endured during his fight at DaeNaq, his time in captivity with Nathan Larsen, and the grueling rescue of Julia had only confirmed the notion that he was a short nap away from a long one in a coffin. McKay had told him as much on the Daedalus, in mannerism and concern if not exactly in words.

But the second time John woke up feeling incredibly uncomfortable, irritable and in pain, he started to wonder if he might actually be getting better. The annoying discomfort felt so much more _real_ than the thick-headed, deathbed stupor he'd lain in that a tiny seed of hope began to grow along with the ache in his back and arm and hand. Even then, he waited until he happened to be alone with Keller before he worked up the courage to ask.

Keller was on rounds, checking his blood pressure and temperature when John reached out to touch her arm, then beckoned her closer once he had her attention. He wasn't up to sitting up, so she leaned comfortably over the bed rails, striking a pose that managed to accommodate his weakness without making him feel pathetic.

"What's up, John?" she asked softly.

"You tell me," he rasped back. "I don't… I mean, how long do I have? How bad is it?"

"How bad is what?"

"The damn pathogen. The incurable infection. How long do I have to lie here before I get to fly the great white jet in the sky?" he snapped.

Keller snatched for his hand and grabbed it tightly, looking shocked and amused all at the same time. "You're not dying, John. You're going to be fine after a few more days of antidote and a lot of rest."

"Don't patronize me, Doc., I want to hear it…" John broke off, finally catching up with what she'd actually said. "…straight. Antidote?"

Keller nodded looking contrite. "I'm really sorry you were still worried. I know we explained things a few times, but you've been pretty out of it."

"So explain it again."

Keller did, and John listened with rapt attention as she described discovering the mutated bacteria after John left Atlantis, flushing out Kaulkin and Fletcher, tracing the conspiracy back to Earth and connecting all the dots to the Trust. John couldn't decide what was more surprising – that the Trust had spies on Atlantis, or that Keller had managed to counter the infection he'd felt killing him a degree of fever at a time.

"Is Hicks OK?" John asked, fearful of the answer.

"We put him in stasis before we came to Earth to find you. He'll be fine until we either get back to Atlantis with the cultures for the antidote or they manage to replicate it from the data we've sent them."

John closed his eyes briefly, feeling tired from simply concentrating for five minutes. "Nice work, Doc.," he said. "I owe you one. Another one."

Keller chewed her lip and John thought she looked somber. "Not me, John. We were months away from a treatment, I have to admit. If it weren't for David's cure, you wouldn't have made it off the Daedalus."

"David who?"

Keller laughed like he was teasing her. "David your brother. He conned that Perses character out of the antidote somehow. Got in a spot of trouble with Landry for it, too."

"Dave? My brother, Dave?"

"You'll have to ask him about it. I was too busy keeping you alive for the first three days to hear much about what all had happened." Keller's expression turned very serious. "We nearly lost you. You were in bad shape from the side effects of the fever and the treatment you received in captivity. I'm sure you're feeling the bruises and burns now that you're starting to join us a bit more often."

"I had noticed, them, yeah," John admitted.

"Let me know if it gets too bad and I'll bring by a painkiller for you. The cure the Trust developed along with the pathogen itself was a true miracle. It wasn't just a beefed up antibiotic which was the best we could have hoped to come up with. It was a specifically targeted anti-bacterial that wiped out the pathogen on contact, much faster and more thoroughly than we could have hoped. It mediated the effects of the infection quickly enough that you had a chance to fight through the rest of your problems. With a little help."

She squeezed his hand tightly, expressing her relief.

"Thanks, Doc.," John mumbled.

"Thank your brother," she stated firmly.

"I guess I'll have to."

Keller started to pull away, but John hung onto her hand, held her back until she bent closer with a puzzled expression. He found himself blushing from embarrassment, but he had to ask, he had to know for sure, "I'm really OK? You're not just propping me up?"

"You're really OK. Well, you will be," Keller added with a smile and that Doctor waffle they all did to keep you resting longer than you want to, "You take it easy for a while and you'll bounce back."

John nodded, finally allowing himself to believe it. He scrubbed his eyes to hide the sudden sting of relief. He'd felt so bad. He'd been certain on the Daedalus that once he let go, he'd never wake up again.

"Fight again another day, huh?" he grunted.

"Yeah, about that," Keller suddenly sounded stern. "There's been too many 'other days' lately, John. I'm taking you off active duty for a full month to recover from this."

"Doc!"

"If you don't rebuild some reserves, you're going to find yourself in a situation where you've been compromised too badly to defend yourself. No more 'other days' for a month."

He glared at her, but realized that the full effect of his annoyance was somewhat dampened by the fact that he was lying flat on his back, unable to even sit upright. And in fact, the next two days got worse rather than better, despite his re-found optimism that he would recover – eventually. As the effects of fever and infection wore off, the aches and pains of his many bruises, cuts, burns and wrenched muscles grew so intense that he finally asked for painkillers and passed through a second round of recovery back in a foggy stupor, this time self-induced.

When he did have a coherent thought, he found himself consumed with curiosity. Where the hell had Dave managed to get an antidote? And what did he have to do to get it?


	28. Chapter 28

David sat in the chair beside John's bed in a comfortable slouch. The infirmary was quiet around him, and his eyes kept drooping closed. He was so tired that the neighboring bed where he'd thrown his suit coat was starting to look quite luxurious. According to Dr. Keller, John had been in a great deal of pain, and consequently on a great deal of painkillers for a couple of days. It was unlikely John would even know he'd been here, but David found the vigil reassuring.

He cringed inwardly at the thought of how desperately sick John had been. There had been a few hours when even Keller had been worried that John wouldn't survive the ordeal, despite the antidote. To simply see John sleeping quietly, looking pink and quiet against the pale green sheets, brought a deep sense of satisfaction. He was glad he'd come today.

David had almost dozed off completely when John began to thrash and moan quietly. He propped his chin on his wrist and watched as his brother worked himself awake in bits and fits of unconscious protest. After a particularly disgusted groan, David sat up with concern, looking around for the nearest nurse.

"John? Can I get you anything?"

John startled a little, then tensed, restraining the restless movements with effort.

"Hi, Dave," he said in a hoarse grunt. His eyes finally fluttered open to peer at David in weary greeting.

"Are you ok? Do you need me to get you a nurse?"

"Nah. The pain meds have just worn off."

"I'll go ask the nurse for some more."

"I said no. I don't want any more right now."

"Makes you foggy." David relaxed back into his chair, hating to see John in pain.

"Yeah," John breathed, squirming a little to get comfortable. "Since you're here, you can distract me for a while before I cave in again. Talk to me."

"What do you want to talk about?" David asked, not expecting rational conversation and deciding to humor John with verbal nonsense.

"Tell me how you got the antidote that saved my ass."

"Ah." David said, and then hesitated. He hadn't been prepared for this conversation tonight, and wasn't looking forward to it at any point. John was watching him through pain-slitted eyes.

"Keller told me the infection that almost took me out was a Trust bioweapon, that you conned your Trust informant out of the cure. I just can't work out how you did it?" John was talking much more rational than David had been hoping, and he found himself scrubbing his chin with discomfort, fidgeting with reluctance.

"Dave?" John prompted.

"You remember that Nathan Larsen was CEO of DaeNaq and became my VP at PSI after I unwisely acquired his company?"

"Sure. Larsen was working for the Trust on some super secret project and decided to double-cross them. He took his goa'uld cargo ship to DaeNaq that night to steal back technology he'd developed on the Trust's dime. When I vaporized whatever it was – some weapon that would have compromised the US power grid, I think – Larsen took me hostage instead."

David frowned. He hadn't heard that part of John's story yet. "Nathan had a weapon at DaeNaq?"

"Yeah, he did. I overheard him as he was looking for it, and managed to destroy it before he got it to his ship."

"The crate you shot at. The one that disappeared," David exclaimed, suddenly understanding John's actions during those terrifying moments he'd been watching from the balcony. "You've got to inform General Landry about that weapon, John."

"I told him about it, already. Uh, I think I told him. I don't remember much before about…now."

"Maybe I should go make sure."

David was half looking for an excuse to leave when John pushed himself further upright on his pillows with a teeth clenched expression of resolve.

"Not until you tell me the rest. What does that have to do with the antidote?"

John's glare wasn't nearly as intimidating as usual, but it was perhaps more convincing in its raw sincerity. David folded his hands into his lap, forcing himself to go on.

"Larsen was working for a goa'uld named Perses who's host was a Russian energy bureaucrat named Dimitri Kolohov. Landry's people seem to think that the Trust is infiltrating energy providers globally, and PSI was going to be their foothold – to use your term – in the United States."

"I'd figured out the US part." John nodded worriedly, "but damn, they're going global too, huh?"

"Yes. Their fatal mistake was using Larsen, who was too stupid and too impatient to do his job effectively."

"Taking over PSI quietly and then using your access to the grid for their weapon."

"Exactly. When Larsen sold DaeNaq to us, he managed, accidentally, to bring the Trust one step away from the SGC through me to you. Which is exactly where they didn't want to be. I'm guessing that they thought to eliminate that risk by…well…" David coughed awkwardly.

"Eliminating me," John finished, sounding not at all disturbed.

"Right. And by intercepting my messages to you. My IT department confirms that the mail servers have been tampered with. Landry has uncovered Trust spies already at Peterson and within the SGC that also probably intercepted the phone call messages I made."

"But Julia's got through."

"Yes. And thank goodness for that. If you hadn't arrived on Earth when you did, and done what you did at DaeNaq that night, Larsen would have gotten away with his weapon and probably left me dead on the warehouse floor." David looked away, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. "I'm grateful, John. You need to know that. I'm…sorry I was angry at you when you arrived."

"You'd had a bad day," John replied dismissively with a clumsy wave of his thickly bandaged hand and David looked up sharply in surprise. John seemed truly unconcerned. Could he really shake off such a terrifying battle so easily? It made David wonder what kind of experiences John endured on a regular basis to be so nonchalant. John's wave turned into a 'get on with it' motion.

"Antidote, Dave. I'm not taking another Vicadin until I know why I'm still alive to feel crappy enough to want it."

David rubbed his eyes and chuckled. John was so damn persistent. It was what kept him alive, David suddenly realized. He gave a great sigh of defeat and propped his feet up on the edge of John's bed, folded his arms over his chest.

"After DaeNaq, I thought you were dead, John. I saw Larsen hold the gun to your head, and I saw you collapse. I was certain that he'd killed you and that it was all my fault."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty hard to kill." John finally looked a little awkward.

"I'm learning that. After Dr. McKay, Ronon and Teyla arrived from Atlantis, they convinced me that it was more likely that you had been taken prisoner and talked me out of arranging for another family wake. While they began their search for Larsen's ship, Perses contacted the SGC and asked for a meeting with me."

"He just called up the SGC?"

"From the second ship, we assume."

"Damn. The Trust is getting cocky."

"You have no idea."

"So, the snake Perses makes an appointment with my brother. This is the point where I just don't get it: Why?"

"In a nutshell: To offer me a job." John's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits and David found himself bouncing a knee in agitation as he went on. "Perses was apparently impressed with the way I handled the Trust's invasion of PSI and they saw that they have need of someone in their organization with my expertise. I suspect they will not set aside their plans for the US energy market just because they failed this time."

"What did you tell them, Dave?" John growled, and David heard the angry concern underneath the demand. His brother was as astute as Julia, David realized.

"I told them to go to hell, at first. And then Perses pulled out the antidote. It got more complicated, then."

"What did you do?"

"I traded the antidote for the vial of symbiote neurotoxin that Agent Barrett had given me for self defense."

John sat bolt upright in his bed, shaking with the effort and suppressed pain, but looking every bit as angry as David had expected. "Holy Crap Dave! You had a chance to take out Perses with the toxin and you didn't do it? He was standing right in front of you and you let him walk away? What the HELL were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I was saving your life," David answered, trying to sound indignant. But the words came out a bit more meekly than he intended under John's fierce fury.

"Dave, do you realize how bad that guy is? You yourself just sat here and told me the Trust has plans to take over the whole global energy market."

"I couldn't let you die."

John flung himself back against his pillows and covered his face with his hands for a moment before letting them fall heavily to the bed. "I can't believe you did that. What did Perses say about the job offer thing after you made the trade? I can't imagine them just letting you walk away, either." John's voice was low with worry.

David squirmed. "Perses' theory was that I would be more interested in his offer after PSI collapsed under the accusations Larsen set into motion. I also suspect that Perses knew about, or initiated the attacks against Julia. He believed that once I 'hit bottom' so to speak, I'd be ready to deal. Perses also believed that by letting you live, you would serve as collateral. He was willing to let me go. I'm certain that he's keeping a close eye on me and PSI."

"Oh, Dave," John breathed and David was shocked to see a sparkle of emotion in John's eyes. "What have you done?"

"I've saved your life, and now, I plan to get back to mine."

"The Trust will never get off your back. They think you owe them. Perses –"

"Isn't as clever as he believes. Perses' plan depended on PSI failing and Julia dying. Thanks to Teyla and my stunningly overconfident brother, Julia survived the attack against her. She's agreed to hire ongoing security, grudgingly."

"I wouldn't say _over_confident. How about brilliant? Brave? Heroic?"

"Hmmm. Arrogant perhaps." David welcomed the brief distraction of humor, and returned it with something like relief.

"That's what Julia called me, too. I agreed with her."

"Naturally. She's quite smitten by the way. Saving her life the way you did has made my life miserable. She won't stop talking and asking about you." David was only mostly teasing – Julia had been quite concerned about John's illness, and frustrated that she wasn't allowed into the Cheyenne Mountain facility to visit for herself.

"She's got a thing for pilots," John stated, looking smug and David found himself frowning, which only pleased John more.

The remarkable thing was that David had never figured that out before; Julia had been fascinated with John since before their father's funeral, and downright annoying about him since.

"You're probably right," David finally sighed, realizing he felt just a bit uncomfortable about it. His brother was attractive, charming, athletic, and all those physical traits that David wasn't. Why shouldn't Julia be smitten?

"Dave, I'm…so sorry about…Dad's company," John said, his voice suddenly soft and hesitant. David looked at John quickly, seeing the sparkle of concern again, this time mixed with weary contrition. "PSI meant everything to Dad. I know it means a lot to you. What will you do?"

"Ah! Yes. You distracted me from my second point about Perses' flaw. PSI is not going to fail, John."

"But the fraud charges? Larsen's cooked books?"

"Fabrications. I already told you."

"But even if you can prove it wasn't you who did it, won't the company still -."

"PSI has been using SOX compliant accounting practices since Dad began the company, John. Long before there was _Sorbanes__-__Oxley. _ My CFO and I knew there was someone meddling with the books at our last quarterly filing."

"Meaning?"

"I never signed Larsen's falsified reports, although we didn't know it was him at the time. My CFO and I corrected the books and filed accurately. Voluntarily filed, I might add. We're not required as a private company."

"So not only can you point the finger at Larsen, but you don't even have any fraud to defend?"

"That's pretty much it. We lost one client during the initial shakeout, but I've been working with the FBI and doing damage control with our other clients all week. The rest are not only on board, they're thrilled that we've come out looking so – honest and straightforward – I believe was the term. We picked up two new clients today." David looked at his watch, "That is, yesterday," he corrected stifling a yawn.

John was staring at him, wide eyed and David cocked his head in puzzlement. "You really are a damn Boy Scout," John finally said and then he chuckled, sinking further into his pillows with a twist of discomfort. "They caught up with Larsen yet?" he asked, closing his eyes and panting a bit.

"He's dead."

John's eyes flew open, "We took him out?"

"No. Larsen admitted himself to a hospital in Salt Lake City five days ago. He died two days later of septic shock as the result of a massive systemic staph infection."

"The Trust took him out," John breathed.

"It appears that they had no more use for him," David agreed.

"Dave, I'm glad that PSI is going to ride this out, but I'm really…worried about you. Perses won't be happy. These people, the way they think – they'll believe you double crossed them."

David tugged at his lip, John's quiet fear more disturbing than any riot act he'd received from Landry and Barrett combined. But he'd made his decision in the warehouse. He knew full well the sacrifice he'd be making, far beyond the SGC's annoyance at losing the neurotoxin.

"I know. I won't really be able to go back to life as usual. The Trust will always be lurking over my shoulder. I'll have to stay on guard, watch my back. And so will you, John. Perses let you live so as to use you against me. He's already used you once to test my loyalties."

"Sorry about that. But you can't worry about me. Compared to what I face every day on Atlantis, the Trust are the least of my concerns."

"And that's supposed to be reassuring?" David quipped.

"It's supposed to remind you that staying ahead of bad guys is MY job. No offense, Dave, but you're a suit. You're still out of your league when it comes to these people."

"I managed just fine with Larsen. And helped bring down the biggest Trust infiltration the SGC has seen so far."

"With MY help, Dave."

"Agreed. We make a rather good team."

"Oh Ancestors help me," John muttered and David smiled at John's expression that was so reminiscent of Teyla. He was going to make a snide comment in return when John stiffened and closed his eyes, clenching his fists on top of the crisp sheets.

"Do you want that painkiller, now?" David asked softly instead.

"I…want you to promise me you'll be careful," John hissed through his discomfort. "I will get Landry to put you on the high priority security lists, and you are to call him and me the second you get even a hint of the Trust shadowing you. No exceptions. You put security on Julia and you get some for yourself. Surround yourself with people you trust and don't let them out of your sight. Do you understand?"

"John -."

"Do you understand?!"

"Yes."

They were interrupted by a nurse making rounds, and John reluctantly accepted the Vicadin that was offered. David watched John's eyes go foggy and begin to droop as the medicine kicked in quickly, even before the nurse had finished her midnight checkup. The vulnerable drowse that fell upon John was even more disconcerting after experiencing the full, vibrant protectiveness of his personality. A new kind of protectiveness was growing within David's own chest; protectiveness that had nothing to do with changing John into someone else, but more with learning about who he was.

A couple of interesting ideas were beginning to take shape when John flopped his head and grinned in bemused relaxation.

"I was making you promise to be careful, wasn't I?" he slurred.

"Yes, you were."

"Did you do it?"

"What?"

"Promise."

"I think I did."

"Let me hear it," John demanded, then promptly closed his eyes.

"Hear what?" David replied with a soft smile. Baiting his brother was an old habit after all. He'd always been able to win on verbal grounds. But this time he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Hear…you…promise," John said even more softly.

"On one condition. You come home for a while."

"Atlantis?" John said, his eyes still closed, and David was strongly reminded of Perses telling David that John would leave him all alone. John's sleepy confession convinced David far more than any quip or rebuke that John had found a home on Atlantis, a home he'd never had as a child or young adult. David fiddled with his hands.

"No, I meant come home with me for a while. We can stay at the Ranch."

John frowned, but was clearly very close to sleep, "Gotta…go…back," he whispered and then began to snore softly.

David leaned back in his seat and scrubbed his face. He wanted John to reconnect with his home on Earth, but he realized that John would probably perceive that desire as an attempt to control him. David watched the late nurses move quietly through the infirmary, and he watched Dr. Lam shut off her office lights and hang up her lab coat to leave. All these people were dedicated to a fault, David thought, then laughed at himself. He regularly put in office time until midnight or later.

John would need a lot of rest and recuperation time. He would talk to Jennifer Keller and Dr. Lam. John wouldn't appreciate the interference at first, but David had some ideas about how to help his brother recover and maybe rebuild some of that connection at the same time.

John groaned in his sleep and rolled to curl around his pillow. David slapped his knees and stood up with a groan of his own. He also needed to sleep. He grabbed up his coat, stretched and then returned to John's side for one last handclasp goodbye.

"We have a deal, then," David said softly. "You come stay with me for a couple of weeks, and…" David felt his throat constrict, feeling the full burden of his sacrifice as he watched John sleeping off the terrible effects of the Trust's lethal demonstration.

"And I'll be careful," he said at last. "I promise."


	29. Chapter 29

Julia fidgeted with anticipation in the bright afternoon sunshine. The capricious spring weather had turned warm, and she sat on the step outside the Ranch's front door, enjoying the breeze and the horses snuffing lazily in their pens. A flicker of motion drew her gaze to the gates at the end of the long brick driveway. She shook her head with a little stab of sadness. She wouldn't ever get used to the presence of security guards and bodyguards that shadowed her and David everywhere.

She had been working hard on being grateful that she and David were still alive after their brush with the super-mob that had tried to take over David's company. The people John worked with hadn't told her everything, but what even David had emphatically repeated was that the people responsible were still a threat.

Julia looked at her watch, jammed her chin into her hand. She hated waiting. David had warned her that John's people were very busy and that playing hi-tech taxi cab was low on Colonel Caldwell's priority list. Julia had met Caldwell briefly on the Daedalus, whatever a Daedalus was, and agreed with David's perception that the man was someone who would easily grow impatient with civilians.

When her cell phone finally rang, she flipped it open feeling excitement course through her. David's voice answered her cheerful salutation.

"We're about to leave. We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"That's wonderful. Everything's ready."

"Thanks, Julia. I owe you one."

"I owe John one. I'm looking forward to seeing him."

"Well, I'll warn you, he's not too happy right now, but he doesn't have much say in the matter. He's still groggy. Don't expect too much."

"I won't, I promise." She flipped her phone closed and admitted she'd just told a bit of a lie.

When the flash finally deposited the group of travelers on the Ranch's driveway, Julia stood up beaming, eager to say hi. When she spotted John within the cluster of new arrivals, she immediately understood what David had meant. He was leaning heavily on David and Dr. Keller, both of whom had an arm wrapped over their shoulders. Ronon was also with them, burdened with a load of duffel bags.

Juila took the few steps over and gave David a peck on the cheek, then smiled at John who was glaring around him like a prisoner contemplating escape. Had David not been bearing almost his full weight, she would have believed him capable of it, too.

"Welcome home, John," Julia said, counting on his innate courtesy to soften his obvious displeasure.

"Yeah. Hi," he replied in a hoarse monotone. Julia's smile grew sympathetic. Buried under the displeasure and discomfort of being moved was deep frustration in John's glassy eyes. He was a man who hated to be sick and at the mercy of others.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, offering him a chance to vent. He just looked at her and laughed a harsh little snort of disgust. She saw the sluggish effect of medicine dulling his responses.

"He's fighting off the last of the infection," Dr. Keller explained. "The antidote had run its course and he's got to do the last of it on his own. Unfortunately, that feels like a setback, I'm sure. His fever is back up. He'll have flu-like symptoms for the next few days."

"And Dr. Keller insisted on pain medication for travel. Makes him grumpy," David added, sounding cheerful.

Julia nodded solemnly, watching John roll his eyes as they talked about him like he wasn't there. Determined to make him feel welcome, and feel better, she stood on tiptoes and also gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Your room is ready," she said, addressing him directly. "Would you like to go get settled in?"

"Sure," he slurred back, but there was relief in the eyes. Even standing was taking all the energy he possessed. Julia hurriedly led the way through the front door and into the large luxurious house. David's father had used the place as a weekend and entertainment home after the boys left for college. It was well kept and beautifully furnished. Julia loved coming here for weekends herself.

David lowered John onto the bed in the room that had been John's as a teenager. Dr. Keller immediately checked his pulse and temperature, then backed off as John swatted her impatiently away to collapse onto the pillows. He was wearing new sweat pants and a matching workout jacket over the ever-present black t-shirt, but looked close to falling asleep with his shoes on. David gave John a friendly slap on the knee, then gestured Ronon into the hallway.

"Let me show you to your room," he said and Ronon followed curiously, leaving one of the duffel bags behind.

Julia and Dr. Keller found themselves standing side by side, looking at John who had, indeed, fallen asleep, one arm thrown over his face.

"Are you staying too, Doctor?" Julia asked, pleased by the woman's careful concern for John. David had spoken very highly of this young woman.

"More or less. I'm going to Princeton to look in on some research going on there while I'm – uh, stateside. I'll commute over here and keep an eye on John for the next several days until his fever breaks again. How about you?"

"I'll be in and out, too."

"Will someone be here if John needs help?"

"David has hired a round the clock visiting nurse, and the staff is all on site for the month to provide meals. David is planning to work from here for the first several days."

"I'd like to meet this nurse before I leave, and tell David he can call me anytime, for anything. I'll stay through till tomorrow in any case to make sure he's transitioning well."

"Of course," Julia said, smiling at the woman's protectiveness. Her usual curiosity got the better of her again. "John must be a close friend for you to leave your regular responsibilities behind for him."

Dr. Keller blushed, but not with romantic embarrassment; her expression was something more like admiration. "He's a friend," she clarified, "and a very close friend of a friend of mine who's getting closer by the day…" she broke off and laughed. "Not that that made any sense whatsoever. John's a special guy. I owe him."

"For saving your life?" Julia had recently become fascinated with the idea that one could owe someone else such an enormous debt as your very life. She would certainly be dead if John hadn't intervened on the jet.

"Yes, he's saved my life and the lives of everyone back home many times. But I think I admire him most for…something else," Dr. Keller looked embarrassed.

"What?" Julia asked softly, not wanting to push, but dying of curiosity.

"One of John's friends got…very sick this past year. And worse, it was a debilitating disease that affected the mind. A lot of people, guys especially, don't deal well with that. John stuck by his friend in a way that was just really…sweet," she finished lamely and then glanced at the sleeping John with a horrified look, "Don't ever tell him I called him sweet. He'd knock me around with Teyla's sticks a few times to beat that impression out of me."

"Tough guy, huh?"

"When he thinks anyone is looking. But anyone who knows him at all knows better."

"I hope to have the privilege of getting to know him better," Julia admitted wistfully.

"He's going to be here for a while isn't he? David seemed eager for John to visit."

"He is. John doesn't seem too thrilled. I just hope that a couple of weeks with his brother will bring them closer. My fear is that they'll end up trying to kill each other."

"I'll win," a sleepy voice suddenly interrupted. The two women startled and turned guilty faces towards the bed. John's eyes were glittering under the arm he still had resting on his forehead.

"You faker. Were you awake the whole time?" Dr. Keller demanded, stepping to the bed and grabbing for John's hand.

"Not really. For the record, you can tell any woman you want that I'm sweet, especially if she's hot. You breathe a word of that crap to another guy? I'll deck you."

Dr. Keller shot Julia a 'see what I mean' look. "You have my word John. We'll leave you to rest."

John frowned. "Are you sticking around, doc?"

"Until tomorrow."

"Ronon?"

"He's here for the duration. David invited him to stay as long as you're here."

Julia watched John relax rather dramatically at the reassurance. An instant later, she was caught in his glare. "And you?"

"I'm leaving in a few hours. I'll be back as often as I can during your visit."

"Ok," he sighed, sounding like a frustrated kid.

"John, are you worried about being left alone? Julia promises there will be someone here round the clock to help out if you need it," Dr. Keller soothed, picking up on the vibe that Julia was also getting.

"No!" he snapped a little too quickly and then grunted in irritation. "It's like you said. I just don't want to have to kill Dave after going to all the trouble of saving him last week."

Julia looked at the doctor and knew exactly what she was thinking.

"You'll feel at home in no time, John," she said emphatically.

"This hasn't been home since I was 18," he muttered back, the slight sluggishness of his speech making him sound petulant. His eyes darted around the room, as if expecting monsters to jump out at him. He was sick and in pain and didn't want to be here. Julia knew the monsters he would be facing were childhood memories, many of them unhappy.

"You haven't _been_ here since you were 18," Julia corrected. "You need to make some new memories of this place. I bet that if you try, you'll find out it isn't so bad here."

"No promises."

"Fair enough. Just give David a chance."

John shook his head fretfully and turned on Dr. Keller, "Jennifer?" he pleaded.

"A month, John. Starting the day your fever breaks. You may as well spend part of it here. I told Landry to freeze your security clearance and access codes, so you can't go back if you tried."

"You didn't!" John pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Of course I didn't," she wagged a warning finger at him and Julia saw John finally let slip a small half-grin, "but I will if it's the only way to get you to rest. Enjoy it! This house is beautiful. I'd kill to stay here!"

"Then you stay, and I'll go to Princeton." But John was giving up. Julia saw him relax back into his pillows and his face turn resigned.

"No trade."

John looked at Julia who grinned back.

"Don't look at me. I've been wanting you to visit for a year."

He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "It's a conspiracy."

"One designed for your own good," Keller agreed. "Rest now. I'll check in on you before dinner."

John just nodded. Julia began to follow Dr. Keller out of the room.

"Julia?"

She turned back in surprise at the soft query. "Yes, John?"

"Come back when you can and talk to me? Help me get started on some of those new memories?"

Julia felt a little flutter of pleasure. She and David had been talking about how to entertain John during his visit, and they had several plans in the works. But she was personally thrilled that he seemed interested in getting to know her better, too.

"Count on it," she said firmly.


	30. Chapter 30

"Hey sleepyhead, you're going to miss lunch."

John woke up with a jerk at the soft words and found his heart beating with exaggerated alarm as he looked wildly around the room. Half familiar walls and furniture assaulted his senses until he blinked hard and forced through the disorientation. He was in his room at the Ranch and he groaned in disgust at the realization. He'd been dreaming about Atlantis.

"Sorry. I didn't think you were that deep asleep." The voice sounded contrite and John finally looked at the door where Julia was poking her head in, looking as embarrassed as she sounded. John forced a laugh and waved her in.

"That's all I do, it seems," he complained with a growl. He pushed himself to the side of his bed and threw his legs over, pausing to scrub at his face. He had really been out cold. He couldn't seem to shake off the grogginess and a familiar jolt of frustration competed in his chest with his fading aches. The fever had broken yesterday, but he just couldn't shake the fatigue, despite three days in this place of doing nothing but sleep.

At last, he looked up at Julia and smiled. She had sidled awkwardly into the room and stood with her back against the door frame, watching him with an expression halfway between amusement and embarrassment. He laughed again, this time finding the feeling genuine.

"Hi," he said enjoying her blush as he looked at her, "I'm awake, now. I think."

"Then hurry up and get dressed. We're eating out by the pool. We've got a surprise for you."

John glanced down at himself and realized that he'd been sleeping in his boxers and nothing else. It was his turn to blush deeply as he caught Julia's slight frown at the fading bruises and old scars all along his sides and scrapes across his shoulders from flying glass. He leaped up and snatched for the clothes that had slipped off the end of the bed from where he'd laid them earlier. He wasn't usually a lie around naked kind of guy, but he'd literally fallen asleep getting dressed this morning.

Julia politely inspected the walls of the room while John hopped on one foot and struggled into his sweats.

"Is the room like you remember?"

"Furniture's the same. I remember a lot more pictures of girls in bikinis on the walls, though."

"Ah," she said and John chuckled. Sometimes Julia sounded just like Dave. "Feel better?" she asked once John was decent and she could look at him again.

"Better is relative, but yeah. A little."

Julia had arrived last evening and they had enjoyed a surprisingly pleasant dinner together in the Ranch's scrubbed kitchen. Ronon had taken a great interest in the thoroughbreds at the Ranch and had excused himself to go with one of the trainers to an evening auction in a neighboring town. Dave and Julia had shared a bottle of wine and John had been content to watch them chat and catch up, enjoying seeing his brother in a rare, unaffected moment.

John scrubbed his hair and walked towards the door, looking at Julia differently today. She was dressed in a loose silk shirt of deep blue that complemented her intense brown eyes. She had a round, heart-shaped face and long, silky brown hair that was free of its clip for the first time since John had met her. She wasn't a twenty-something hottie, but she was quite beautiful. And yet, John wasn't looking at her as a woman.

Julia frowned with pleased puzzlement at his sudden scrutiny.

"Ready for lunch?" she asked.

"You said there was a surprise?"

"Yes. But you have to come out to see it."

"No hints?"

"You can't wait for thirty seconds?"

"I'm impatient," he agreed, stepping close and waiting for her to lead the way.

"That's what David says," she replied, walking ahead of him.

"Big brother's always right," John muttered, but he was smiling as he watched Julia. It had suddenly, surprisingly occurred to John as he dressed that Julia didn't fit his usual categories for the women he interacted with on a regular basis. She wasn't a colleague in the professional sense. And she certainly wasn't 'available' in the dating sense. She was family, an entirely new category for John who had grown up in an overwhelming patriarchy.

With a jolt and a big wide grin, he suddenly realized that the best word for Julia was "sister". An entire world of opportunity opened up before him and he looked at her again with a gleam of mischief.

"What?!" she snapped, glancing back and catching his look. He shrugged.

"I'm really sorry about your jet," he said as they made their way through the stone and leather den. "Will you be able to replace it?"

Her sigh was somewhat exaggerated, and John grinned even wider. "It was insured, but that particular plane is on backorder for years. I got on the priority list for the first shipments by cutting a deal with the CEO, but the rest are spoken for."

"It was a sweet ride," he repeated, remembering the smooth controls and handling of the jet, even in its damaged condition. "How's your pilot?"

"Chuck is doing well. I went to see him a few days ago. He'll probably retire, though. So I'm out a plane and a pilot."

John sidled closer, bumped her shoulder with his, "You may not know this about me, but I know a thing or two about flying," he said, his voice low and teasing, "Once you find your replacement ship, I could take you up now and then."

To his immense satisfaction, Julia blushed a deep red and grinned back, "I'd like that," she said. A sudden idea struck John and he stopped walking for a moment.

"As a matter of fact, I still know a bunch of guys out at McGuire. Once I'm back on my feet, I could take you down there, show you around the base. If they'll let me pull some rank, I'll take you up in one of my birds, assuming they still have some hawks around."

Julia clapped her hands together and bit her lip, looking like she'd just been given Christmas itself. "Oh, John! That would be great."

"Then it's a date." He began to squirm a bit at her continued look of admiration and scrubbed the back of his neck. "You trust me not to crash again?"

Her face went suddenly very stern, "That reminds me. You said something on the jet about where Earhart went down. What do you know that the rest of us don't?"

"You don't forget a damn thing, do you?" he accused.

"It's a gift," she replied firmly.

He looked at her a long moment, then glanced around the den for the globe that used to sit on a lampstand. He waved her to follow and headed towards it.

"I had some free time on the Daedalus a couple years ago. I spent a day with the scanners poking around the Pacific."

"You found her?" Julia breathed.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did," he replied just as softly.

They reached the globe and he spun it to the Southern hemisphere and put his finger on Lae, Papua New Guinea, the city from where Earhart had left on that fateful last journey. Julia had one arm wrapped around her middle, the other covering her mouth in rapt attention. Slowly he traced the route Earhart had taken as she headed towards Howland Island. Julia nodded as his finger paused at the location of Earhart's last known transmission, and then he moved it a fraction of a degree further and stopped.

"There?"

John nodded. Julia reached out and touched John's finger at the same spot. He stepped back and looked away to let Julia have a moment to absorb the revelation. When she also stepped back, she swiped at her eyes, looking angry at herself for allowing them to water.

"Why haven't you told anyone, John? If you know where the Electra is, why not send people to recover it?"

John wagged his head, wondering if Julia would understand. He'd asked himself the same question that day on the Daedalus, two years ago. "Even if I could find a way to explain how I found it using equipment that isn't supposed to exist, I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Why not?"

"For me, the fascination as a ten year old kid was her disappearance. I'm sure she meant something different to you as a girl, but for me, it was all about the mystery. I read every book ever written about her. I learned to chart courses and calculate airspeed and fuel consumption so I could find out for myself where she had landed. I learned that Electra inside and out. I think, somehow, I felt like I needed to…rescue her. And in the process, I fell in love with flying."

He heard his voice going low with emotion and the desire to explain something that had been a formative part of his life. He looked into Julia's eyes. "I couldn't take that away from some ten year old kid out there today, reading the same stories and exploring the same way I did. I couldn't take the mystery away from the world."

"Oh, John," Julia smiled, her eyes sparkling again. "I couldn't agree more."

He grinned back, feeling suddenly like a ten year old again and then feeling quite a bit more grown up as Julia reached for his face and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Impulsively, he grabbed her around her waist and squeezed her tight, lifting her off the ground until she giggled. Yes, having a sister was a pretty cool thing.

"Julia? Oh, there you are."

Dave was poking his head in through the patio door and John saw him frown deeply as he caught Julia and John in the playful embrace. Unable to resist, John flipped Julia into a deep, backwards bend and planted a big sloppy kiss of his own on her cheek. Then he stood her upright and shoved her, looking very flustered towards Dave.

"Where's my surprise?" he demanded winking at Julia.

"Outside," Dave snapped, sounding disgruntled and pulling Julia protectively into his arms. Julia laughed and squirmed to peer into Dave's face. She seemed to be enjoying Dave's jealousy and John bit his lip, making a mental note not to push it. Julia was perfect for Dave; they were perfect together as far as he'd seen. The fact that John also happened to like her was simply icing on the cake, and completely irrelevant.

"John promised to take me to McGuire and fly me around in a helicopter," she announced and John cringed. Julia, however, seemed determined to twist the knife a bit.

"Is that right?" Dave growled, now glaring at John. John shrugged, trying to look innocent.

"That's right. You have a wonderful brother, David." Julia wrapped her arms around David's waist. "Which doesn't surprise me," she added her voice dropping and turning sultry. The kiss she planted on Dave was considerably more interesting than the peck she'd given John and after an uncomfortably long wait, John finally snorted in disgust and headed for the door.

"Get a room," he muttered, "I'm going outside."

Dave pulled himself away from Julia. John smirked at his goofy, sheepish grin.

"Go ahead. We've been waiting for you."

"We?" John asked idly then stepped through the doors. He froze a step later. The patio was decorated lavishly with balloons and streamers and a table with sandwiches and a sheet cake was set to one side, burdened with food and drinks. Rodney, Jennifer, Teyla, Torren and Ronon were all standing around, watching him and grinning at his reaction. He hardly had a chance to take it all in when Teyla rushed up to greet him, holding a wildly excited Torren in her arms.

"Jah!" the baby squealed and flung himself out of her hands towards John.

John snatched for the boy and scooped him close, laughing at Teyla's relief.

"Hey, TJ! What's going on, buddy?"

"We are celebrating Torren's birthday! Your brother kindly arranged for us to join you at your home for the weekend before we leave for ours on the Daedalus, Monday." Teyla's face was shining with happiness and John couldn't help but feel her joy sink into his very bones. He looked for Dave and found him grinning back, looking smug at his surprise.

Torren squirmed again and slithered down John's legs to toddle towards a bunch of floating balloons. Teyla gave John a quick hug, then hurried after the overexcited baby. Rodney wandered by next, shaking John's hand and stuffing a last bit of sandwich into his mouth.

"This place is AWESOME," he gushed with something like envy. "You never told me you grew up in a place like this."

"Uh…"

"Did you see that pool house? A Sauna and an indoor hot tub."

"Yeah, Rodney, I've seen it once or twice…"

"And like, what? Fifty horses over there?" Rodney waved towards the barns. John just looked helplessly at Dave, but it was Ronon who answered.

"Thirty horses. Twenty thoroughbreds and ten working breeds. Of the twenty, most are Arabians, although three are an Arabian-European hybrid -."

Ronon would have gone on but was interrupted by Jennifer pushing through to give John a quick hug and pass around bottles of beer. John looked longingly at the beer, frowned when she shoved a can of Sprite in his hand instead.

"Why don't you sit down and Rodney can bring you a plate," she said, cutting off his protest and shooting a pointed look at her errand boy.

"I can? Oh, right." Rodney scurried off and John felt himself being steered towards the festive patio table that sported a small pile of brightly colored packages. It was Julia hanging onto his arm and tugging him towards a chair, and it was only as he sat down that he realized he was shaking and perspiring from the brief stint on his feet.

But John didn't care. Surrounded by his friends, he felt much better at that moment than he had in days. They rest gathered their own food and sat with him. TJ crawled into his lap and stole chips from his plate. Dave and Rodney argued about the stock market. The women sat together and John kept catching them watching him play with the baby. He raised a flirtatious eyebrow at Julia who laughed back and grabbed Dave's hand affectionately.

When Teyla and Jennifer left to cut and serve birthday cake, John passed TJ to Julia who showed him off to Dave.

John leaned back in his seat, feeling tired again, but happier than he could have believed possible. He'd forced back near panic attacks his first hours here, trapped in the past as the surroundings forced old hurts and memories upon him. But as he watched Dave squirm with discomfort as Julia played with the baby and listened to Ronon telling Rodney all about the horses, he realized that Julia was right. Damn her. He needed new memories of this place or it would always have a power over him.

The patio chairs were cushy and comfortable, and John sank lower, resting his head on the padded back. He laughed as TJ smeared cake all over himself and insisted along with the rest that letting a baby do so was an "American" tradition of the highest importance to a very skeptical Teyla.

The sun grew warm and lazy as the afternoon wore on. John closed his eyes, listening to the murmur of family around him. He felt slaps and pats on his arms and shoulders as they passed by, expressing their pleasure at his presence with gentle touch.

"John? Do you want to go back to your room?" Julia asked at last.

John rolled his head back and forth, but didn't open his eyes.

"Nah," he said, feeling the smile on his lips. "I'm good."

And that was the most remarkable thing of all: He was.

_Fini_

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who made it this far and for everyone who has been so kind to drop a note! It's appreciated! It's finished. And I have no idea what I'm going to do with my free time...wah! Some research details you probably aren't interested in: Julia's jet was a Cessna Citation Mustang. It was fun to read about and damn, I want one now! (not really) Go Google it for pictures. _


	31. Bonus Missing scene

_OK, this is purely bonus material. This was a cut scene from an earlier draft. I decided to go in a little different direction with Sheppard's "injuries", i.e. the whole bioweapon bacteria thing came on late in the planning process. It also was similar to the John/Rodney conversation so I decided not to rewrite it and instead used some of Keller's material at the end. But I like the scene, especially Ronon, so feel free to read or not! It would take place in chapter 4, between the flashback and John leaving the infirmary if it had remained._

"I just don't get it," John blurted from his infirmary bed. Teyla, Rodney and Ronon were gathered around, standing in companionable vigil as Keller sewed up his hand. They had wired him up with IVs even before he made it to the infirmary, so he was still dressed in his uniform, still dusty and filthy. "Who could hate me enough to go to all the trouble to print out 'Most Wanted' signs?"

"I can only think of a couple dozen people," Rodney said, sounding thoughtful.

"Kolya's dead," he snapped, rather too harshly, and his friends exchanged a knowing look of concern that just annoyed John further.

"Maybe the Coalition of Planets has decided to continue their prosecution of our supposed 'crimes' through you?" Teyla offered quickly.

"I dunno. I thought we left that pretty settled. They seemed more the high and mighty type." John scrubbed his face with the hand that Keller wasn't working on and sighed fretfully.

"So, what do we do about it?" Ronon said.

"Woolsey wants to take me off 'gate duty. He said Ladon has threatened to hang anyone else in the Genii military that tries to collect on the reward."

"But that doesn't stop the hundreds of other mercenaries running around out there who might give it a try to make a buck," Rodney scoffed as if no one else had thought of it.

"Exactly. I've been thinking. Remember that run-in we had a week ago at the pub on 354? I think that might have been related." There was a collective moment of silence as they were each lost in the difficulty of the problem. John just felt frustrated. If he couldn't 'gate offworld, he couldn't do his job.

He pressed his elbow into the side that had been aching off and on ever since Michael's box had zapped him, especially after physical exertion. It was killing him at the moment and serving as painful reminder: He couldn't do his job, either, if he was under constant attack from random idiots. He wouldn't put more of his people in danger. Xiang and Hicks had already paid too high a price.

"Maybe a break from offworld duty isn't such a bad idea." Keller spoke into the silence, a hint of something in her voice that turned John's head to glare at her. He had a suspicion of where she was going. When she looked up from the stitch she was making, her face was deadly serious. "You could use the rest."

"Doc…" John's voice was a warning growl.

"I'm sorry John, but we've been through this."

"And I've been taking it easy." Keller ignored his embarrassed glance at the friends hovering nearby and shook her head.

"You call this," she waved her needle over John's filthy and bloody shirt, "taking it easy?"

"_This_ wasn't my fault. We had no reason to expect that ambush."

"But that's exactly what I'm talking about. It's dangerous out there. You had major surgery less than a year ago. Shortly after that, you nearly died from exposure to Michael's ATA eradication device. A couple of months ago you stumbled off the mainland looking like something the cat dragged in -."

"It's been a crappy year. I get it."

"No. No, you don't. If you don't give yourself a chance to recover properly, you're going to find yourself in a situation where you've been compromised too badly to defend yourself."

"So what am I supposed to do? I feel fine." He suddenly realized that he was still pressing his hand against his side and quickly moved it back to the bed. "Well, not right now, but you know what I mean."

"You're supposed to rest. Take leave time. Go on vacation while Woolsey and Lorne sort this thing out."

"I won't send my people out there if I'm not willing to go myself."

"You're the commander of this base. We can't afford to lose you, John. Let someone else take the bullet for a few weeks."

John leaned into Keller's face and pointed a threatening finger. The rest of his team suddenly found other things in the room to become interested in.

"Hicks already took a bullet meant for me today. I will not let that happen again. No one in my command is expendable, Dr. Keller. No one."

"Then it's a shame you feel that way about yourself." Keller stared John down with all the ferocity of a caged kitten, then touched John's hand gently before she snipped off the last of the thread. "Someone will be by to clean that up and dress the wound." And then she left to check on her other patients.

John lay seething, trying to ignore the shocked and uncomfortable look on Teyla's face. Rodney was fidgeting with the hem on his shirt and Ronon – well, Ronon was grinning like a fool.

"What?!" John snapped when he also started to chortle.

"I was just wondering how much that bounty is worth."

Rodney giggled and John sighed, closing his eyes.

"Funny."


End file.
